


just close your eyes and see

by dinglehoppersaplenty



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Blow Jobs, F/M, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, LSD, M/M, Marijuana, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Woodstock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:04:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 43,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7093567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinglehoppersaplenty/pseuds/dinglehoppersaplenty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><img/><br/>"Woodstock Music & Art Fair presents An Aquarian Exposition: 3 Days of Peace & Music"</p><p>five boys become a piece of history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. August 13, 1969

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [1D_Hiatus_Prompt_Meme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/1D_Hiatus_Prompt_Meme) collection. 



> written for the prompt:
> 
> "ot5 roadtrip to Woodstock in the '60s--guitar playing, camping, general nudity abound--can be any (or no) pairing as long as there's still plenty of ot5 (group sex??? :))"

**August 13, 1969**  
_(just outside Dayton, OH)_

_“Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name…”_

There’s a man walking along the side of the highway.

He’s easy to spot, even from a distance, painting a stark figure against the farmlands stretching out on either side. There’s an acoustic guitar strapped to his back and a large duffel hanging from one shoulder. His jeans are faded, the bottom hems fraying over a pair of scuffed brown boots, and his vest is more fringe than vest. Both of his exposed arms are tanned a deep golden, the left one covered in a clutter of black ink. His mess of long brown curls, gilded in the morning light, is dotted with tiny blue and white flowers.

“Lou,” Liam starts, meaning to point him out, but when he looks over, Louis’ eyes are already locked on the man and he’s smirking around the end of his cigarette. As he blows out the smoke, he glances over at Liam and winks.

The sounds of harmonica from the backseat cut out. Niall leans forward, propping his elbows on the back of the seat between Liam and Louis. It isn’t that hot out, the sun still too low to start baking the earth yet, but Liam can feel the heat radiating off Niall’s bare chest. “Eh?” Niall says, peering out the windows.

Liam points, guiding his vision, even though it’s not really necessary. The man is the only spot of interest on the empty road. Liam gets the feeling their eyes would be drawn to him even if he wasn’t, though. There’s something…magnetic about him.

As they draw closer, the man sticks his left hand out, thumb pointed to the sky. The thick rings on his fingers glint in the light.

“What do you say, boys?” Louis asks, flicking ash out his window. “Shall we give him a lift?”

Niall is already nodding enthusiastically, his crooked-tooth grin on display. “I like the looks of ‘im.”

“Zayn?” Louis calls back.

Zayn, having passed out in the far back row of seats after he handed the wheel over to Louis at the state line, says nothing.

Louis raises an eyebrow at Liam, and he just shrugs. He’s just along for the ride, it’s not up to him who tags along too. The guy doesn’t look too bad, at least. Louis seems to take it for agreement though, and with a grin, he presses on the breaks. He slows the van to a crawl as they draw up next to the hitchhiker, keeping pace with him as he continues walking.

Up close, the ink on his skin takes on more definition—there’s a large, simple heart high on his shoulder, filled in with dark ink, next to script in a foreign lettering; a ship of some kind on his outer bicep, a simple naval star on the inside; a large grey rose sits on the crease of his elbow, while a mermaid (with a _vagina_ ) takes up the outside of his forearm, and a large anchor is based on his wrist. There seem to be dozens more, small ones that Liam can’t quite make out, scattered up and down his left arm. It’s a bit impressive, honestly; Liam has a couple of tattoos of his own, but nothing that extensive.

Leaning into Liam’s space, Louis calls out the open window. “Hey, man.”

The hitchhiker turns to look at them, and Liam is immediately a bit taken aback by how striking his features are, his sharp jaw and full mouth and searching, distant eyes. He’s not beautiful like Zayn is beautiful, but beautiful nonetheless.

His open vest also reveals no shirt and even more ink: two swallows under his collarbones, a large butterfly across his lean stomach, a pair of laurel leaves over his hips. His pants are so low, Liam can see the dark shadow of the hair around his groin.

He immediately averts his eyes, finding the hitchhiker blinking up at them, as if he’s surprised they’re actually real. Or maybe he’s just taking in the paint job Zayn (and Louis, and Niall, and even Liam, in the short time he’s been riding along with them) have done to the outside of the van. It had certainly made Liam pause the first time he’d seen it.

“Where you headed?” Louis asks, and the hitchhiker just blinks again, a slow sweep of his lashes. He looks at Louis for a moment like he’s waiting for something from him, but when Louis just quirks an expectant eyebrow, he turns, squinting into the rising sun, pointing in the same direction.

Liam wonders if that’s all they’re going to get from him, but then, with a deep voice that pours out as slow as his movements, the man says, “Woodstock Music Festival.”

“Groovy,” Louis says, the grin evident in his voice, and Liam nods in agreement, smiling too. Anyone else headed to Woodstock has to be good people. Louis brings the van to a full stop, jerking his head towards the back, where Niall is already scrambling for the doors. “Hop on in, man, we’ll take you there with us.”

While the smile on the hitchhiker’s face is slow to form, it’s wide and disarmingly beautiful, dimples creasing his cheeks and crinkling his eyes. “Right on.”

“What’s happenin’?” Niall greets brightly as he pushes the doors open. “Come on in, man. I’m Niall.”

“Pleased to meet you,” the man says politely, slipping the duffel off his shoulder. “My name’s Harry.”

Niall takes the bag, his face falling into a comical grimace as he takes the weight of it. “Jesus, man, what you got in here, bricks?”

Harry shakes his head, staring at the bag as if its very existence vexes him. “The trappings of a materialistic world,” he corrects. Liam raises an eyebrow at Louis, who’s pursing his lips in a way that means he’s trying not to laugh, as Harry continues, “No matter how I try to rid myself of them, I find myself emotionally chained to some objects.”

“Everybody’s got somethin’, man.” Shaking his head with another grin, Niall hefts the bag up, turning to the back row of seats. “Oi, Zayn. Zayn!”

Louis scoffs as Niall keeps calling Zayn’s name, turning back to the front and taking a drag of his cigarette; Liam smirks back, communicating an _at least it’s not us_ with a raise of his eyebrows. Harry doesn’t seem to mind the slight delay, peering interestedly at the paintwork that also covers the interior of the van.

“What, man?” Zayn snaps, after the fifth time Niall says his name. “I’m _sleeping_.”

“Budge up, man,” Niall says, unperturbed by the dirty look Zayn is undoubtedly giving him, and swings the bag like he’s going to throw it back there whether Zayn’s ready or not, “we got company.”

There’s a bit of grumbling before Zayn’s dark head finally pops up over the seats, his dark eyes narrowed muzzily at Niall; his hair is sticking up some on one side, his mouth turned down in a sleepy pout. Liam is struck once again by how lucky Zayn is, to be able to look so good even so disheveled.

“C’mon,” Niall urges, jerking his head toward Harry, who’s still standing at the doors.

Zayn’s pout turns to more of a frown. “Who’re you?”

“Zayn, this is Harry,” Louis says, catching Zayn’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “He’s headed to Woodstock, too.”

“Hi,” Harry says with a wave, almost singing the word. He’s now staring unabashedly at Zayn. Liam can relate: he’d been a bit awestruck the first time he’d seen Zayn, too. Although that had involved much more sneaking glances than outright staring.

There’s a long moment, Zayn looking blearily between Niall, Harry, and Louis, before he finally settles on frowning at Harry. “The fuck’re you staring at?”

“Sorry,” Harry says thoughtlessly, still staring, his eyes roaming over Zayn’s face. “You’re a very beautiful man, did you know?”

Louis snorts, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, hiding his grin behind his cigarette, but Liam can’t really blame Harry. Louis may be used to how good-looking Zayn is, but Liam is still struck dumb by it every once in a while. The first time they met, he called Zayn the prettiest man he’d ever seen. (Although he’d also been high as a kite at the time. Then again, Harry could be high too for all they know.)

It seems to mollify Zayn, however, and after another long moment of assessing the situation, he sighs heavily and scoots over. He leans his head against the painted window and closes his eyes, presumably to fall back asleep.

“Don’ mind ‘im,” Niall says, drawing Harry’s attention back, as he dumps the bag onto the seat next Zayn, the back storage area packed too tight to accommodate it. “Not the brightest ray o’ sunshine in the mornin’s.”

Zayn raises his middle finger without opening his eyes, and Niall laughs loudly as he turns back to Harry, hand offered to take his guitar. Harry slings it off his back, revealing a large pink peace sign embroidered on the back of his vest, and hands it over. “Oh, she’s a beauty,” Niall says as he leans it against the seat by Harry’s bag with care, patting it fondly. Liam’s not sure he would call it a beauty, but the battered Gibson certainly seems well-loved, what with the wood finish scratched and nicked and drawn on, a psychedelic pattern painted over the pickguard, the strings poking out untrimmed from the tuning keys.

“Do you play?” Harry asks as he climbs inside, tossing his hair out of his eyes to look at Niall as he sits down. He leaves a flutter of petals in his wake.

“Used to,” Niall says wistfully, bumping past Harry to reach for the doors, “’fore I sold it for gas money in Topeka. Still got me harmonica though,” he adds, patting at the back pocket of his jeans, where he’s put his harmonica so many times that it’s started wearing holes.

Just then Louis taps on the gas, jerking the van into motion; one of the doors swings closed, nearly hitting Niall in the face. Liam can’t help but smile at Niall’s outraged expression as he turns on Louis. “Oi!” he says, waving his fist at Louis, who merely cackles. “Almost got me face there!”

“Wouldn’t have been able to tell, with that mug of yours,” Louis retorts; Liam lets out a burst of laughter, earning himself another wink from Louis, while Niall grumbles, reaching for the doors again and quickly shutting them before Louis can pick up much more speed.

Liam turns back to look out the front window as Louis shifts into higher gear, the van beginning to trundle along fast enough to be a bit of a bumpy ride. He keeps his ears tuned to Niall’s Irish lilt and Harry’s low, rumbling responses.

“So where you from, Harry?” Niall asks as he drops into the seat next to him.

“Nowhere, man,” Harry replies with a shrug. “But also like…everywhere?” Louis catches Liam’s eye, making a face; Liam props his elbow on the car window, covering up his smile with his hand. “I’m kind of like…” He trails off, apparently deep in thought, until he finally proclaims, “A leaf. On the wind.”

 _“He’s a real nowhere man!”_ Louis suddenly begins singing, as Niall laughs at something Harry does; Niall is quick to join in on the harmony with the next line of the song. _“Living in his nowhere land!”_ Liam joins in to round out the harmonies, while Louis starts tapping out a rhythm on the wheel with his hands. _“Making all his nowhere plans for nobody!”_

When an unfamiliar fourth voice joins them for the next verse, Liam looks back at the other boys, finding Niall with an arm slung around Harry’s shoulders, rocking them from side to side, while Harry keeps time on his thigh, both of them singing along. Liam finds himself grinning at Louis, who’s already grinning back.

They only get louder as they get to the chorus, the three of them taking the background oh-la-las as Louis takes the main line. _“Nowhere man, please listen! You don’t know what you’re missing!”_ Niall laughs, bouncing forward to ruffle Louis’ hair before moving back to his seat, spreading his arms wide and joining Louis to sing, _“Nowhere man, the world is at your command!”_

“Please stop,” comes Zayn’s voice from the back as the rest of them burst into laughter before they can properly finish out the chorus. “It’s too early for singing.”

“Aw, don’t be such a drag, Zaynie!” Louis calls back, looking back through the rearview mirror to smirk at them; he catches Harry’s eye and winks.

“I’ll drag my fist through your face if you don’t shut it,” Zayn says mutinously, his eyes still closed. It’s a wonder he can even try to sleep at all with the window rattling under his head.

“Like I said,” Niall says as an aside to Harry, “not the brightest ray of sunshine. Ow, hey!” He rubs at the back of his head where Zayn had smacked him, turning to glare back at him. Zayn still has his eyes closed and head against the window, but he’s wearing a small smile now.

Liam feels a bit guilty, though. “He did drive all night for us,” he reminds Louis. “Maybe we should cool it.”

Louis makes a face, rolling his eyes. “You’re no fun, Liam.” But thankfully he heeds Liam anyway, settling back further into his seat as he brings his cigarette—little more than filter and glowing ember by now—back up to his mouth.

“Got any more of those?” Liam asks, nodding at the cigarette. Louis reaches down to the seat between them, nudging over the crumpled pack of Marlboros they’d all been smoking from for the past day or so.

“Not many,” he says around his filter. Liam swipes up the pack, pulling one out and sticking it in his mouth as Louis flicks his butt out the window. “Need a light?” Liam shakes his head, already fishing for the book of matches from the front pocket of his shirt and dropping the pack back between them.

He can feel eyes on him as he strikes the match, cupping his hand around it as he brings it up to the cigarette so it doesn’t blow out in the wind whipping through the van. Once the cigarette is lit, he looks up to find Harry looking right back at him. They lock eyes, and Liam instantly feels exposed, like Harry’s eyes can see _into_ him.

“You’re a very beautiful man too, did you know?” Harry says suddenly.

Liam balks. “I—what?” He glances over at Louis, who’s making a considering face, then to Niall, who’s grinning and nodding like Harry said a perfectly reasonable thing, like Liam wasn’t a—like he hadn’t—

“Like, inside, too,” Harry continues. Liam looks back at Harry to find him still staring, his face serious, eyes boring into Liam. “You have a good aura about you.” Liam swallows against his suddenly thick tongue, still not sure how to respond. He wants to look away again, but can’t seem to tear his eyes from Harry’s, stuck like Harry’s looking into his very soul.

He’s incredibly grateful when Louis jumps in with a change of topic. “So are you a musician then, Harry?”

It takes longer than Liam likes, but Harry turns his gaze towards Louis, and Liam takes his first breath in what feels like minutes.

“Sometimes,” Harry answers cryptically, and Liam is finally able to look away, frowning at his reflection in the side mirror as he takes a drag of his cigarette. He rubs at his forehead underneath the red bandana tied around his head, suddenly feeling itchy and hot.

He’s just—not really sure what to make of Harry’s comment. Liam isn’t like Zayn, he’s not—he isn’t exactly bad-looking, but he’s not beautiful, not by any stretch of the word, and especially not— _inside._ To hear a complete stranger say so is flattering, but also feels a bit…hollow. Harry doesn’t know him at all; if he did, if he knew the things Liam’s been through, the things he’s _done_ , he’s not likely to think Liam is very beautiful at all.

“Amen,” Louis says beside him, and Liam blinks, wondering what he’s missed. Louis catches his eye, raising his eyebrow in a silent _you all right?_

Liam waves off his concern, taking another drag of his cig. He tunes in to the way Harry is talking about the universality of music and tries to ignore the ghosts lurking in the back of his mind.

Suddenly Niall leans forward, wrapping his arm around the back of the seat and Liam’s neck as he says, “Lend us a light, would you?” On instinct, he jerks Niall’s arm away, his grip nearly tight enough to bruise. The force of the pull is strong enough to bash Niall’s head against the headrest. “Ow, fuck!”

Liam drops Niall’s arm like a hot coal, his eyes wide and heart racing, while Niall curses some more, pulling back to rub at his nose. “I’m sorry,” Liam says as he turns to the backseat, maybe a bit horrified with himself, because that wasn’t—that wasn’t normal. “Sorry,” he repeats, trying to ignore the shaking in his hands, the blood rushing in his veins, “sorry, I—I didn’t mean to—”

Niall waves him off. “M’not bleedin’, we’re good.” He scrunches his nose a few times to make sure it’s still in working order.

“Sorry,” Liam says again anyway, just as Louis says, “He’s fine, Liam.” Louis looks away from the road to examine Niall for himself. “You’re fine, right Niall?”

“I’m good, yeah,” he says, looking up at both of them with a grin; his eyes are a bit watery. Liam grimaces.

“He’s fine,” Louis repeats, nudging Liam’s shoulder as he turns back to the road. “Here’s that light, Niall,” he adds, tossing his lighter over the seat. Niall yelps, scrambling to catch it. As Liam watches with concern, he uses it to light the joint he’d been keeping behind his ear. He’s obviously fine, but Liam still feels…off.

It’s not the first time something like this has happened. The boys learned early on not to jump up on Liam from behind, because it usually ends up in someone getting hurt. (It usually isn’t Liam.) By some miracle, the boys haven’t kicked him out of the van for being fucked in the head. He thought he’d been getting better; just the other day Louis had jumped on his back for a ride and Liam hadn’t even flinched, just laughed and carried him the rest of the way to the van.

He just feels—stupid now for reacting so strongly, especially in front of someone new. He hadn’t really planned on exposing that bit of himself so early to a stranger.

“Here,” Niall says, smoke trailing out of his mouth, the joint in his hand held out like a peace offering. “It’s all good, man.”

Liam’s eyes flick over to Harry before he can stop himself, only to find Harry staring at him again. Staring _into_ him again. He quickly turns back to Niall, taking the joint with his free hand. He takes a long, hard drag, the smoke entering his lungs with a now-familiar burn, the taste sweeter and sharper than the tobacco lingering in his mouth.

He holds his breath, chest tight, and offers it to Louis, who eyes the joint for a moment in consideration before waving it off. Liam goes to give it back to Niall, only to find him bent over, fussing with something under the seat. Reluctantly, he turns to Harry, silently offering the joint and avoiding his eyes. Harry takes it, his fingers warm and dry when they brush over Liam’s. “Thank you,” he says, slow as ever, before bringing the joint up to his mouth.

All Liam can bring himself to do is give him a tight smile and an awkward nod before turning back to the front, exhaling the smoke with a loud _whoosh_. He can feel Louis’ eyes on him, but ignores him, focusing on his cigarette, on the repetitive motions of inhaling and exhaling. He’s fine.

He isn’t beautiful. He’s fine.

*

The next few hours pass quickly. Once Niall’s joint is done, Harry rolls one from his own stash and passes it around, too. While the boys keep talking, Liam sits back, watching the endless waves of farmland go by. Louis tries to pull him into the conversation a couple of times; Liam doesn’t contribute much. Ten miles later, Louis stops trying. Liam only half-listens, liking the way their voices all sound together more than what they’re saying.

The golden light of the morning turns into a bright, clear sky. When the gas gauge gets to the point where it starts going wonky, they pull off at the first place they see, some tiny place off the highway.

Louis doesn’t actually make the turn-off until the very last second, taking the turn fast enough to send all of them sliding with the momentum. It nearly gives Liam a heart attack, but he also laughs the entire time, laughing at the face Louis is pulling, laughing at Zayn cursing from the back, laughing at the way Niall yells and exaggerates their momentum, covering Harry’s body with his own, laughing because Harry is laughing, too, a bright loud cackle.

As they pull up at one of the two pumps, Liam’s heart is still racing and his face feels a bit flushed, which he blames on the sun. It doesn’t have anything to do with the way Harry keeps _looking_ at him.

“Hey Niall, pay for the gas, yeah?” Louis says, grabbing Liam’s sleeve as the attendant—an old man with a long grey beard—eyes the painted van warily. “Liam’s gonna help me grab some food.”

“Wha— _Louis_ —” Liam sputters, as Louis practically yanks him across the seats, dragging him out of the car and into the small general store attached to the gas station; he can hear Niall yelling something after them, but is too busy trying to get Louis to let go of his arm to actually listen.

His efforts only make Louis grip even tighter, though, as he continues pulling Liam along once they get inside. Louis also steadily ignores the raised eyebrow of the girl behind the register as she watches a grown man with no shoes or shirt leading another grown man to the one-person restroom. “Louis, _what_ are you doing—?”

Casually locking the door behind them, Louis finally lets him go, but still doesn’t offer an explanation as to what the hell he’s doing as he flips the seat up on the toilet. Liam turns his back as Louis starts unzipping his pants, even if modesty’s not a concept Louis—or any of the other boys, really—is too familiar with.

It’s not until Louis actually starts peeing that he speaks again to Liam. “Do we need to kick him out of the van?”

Liam splutters, turning to look at Louis before he remembered why he was looking away in the first place. “I—what? Who?”

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis says meaningfully. Liam gets the feeling that if Louis didn’t have his hands on his dick, he’d be shaking Liam. “I will leave him here if we need to.”

“We can’t _leave him_ ,” Liam says immediately, because that’s really his only reaction. He doesn’t know where this is coming from, or why it’s up to _him_ to decide; he thought Louis liked the guy. They all like Harry, from what Liam can tell. He fits in seamlessly with them, like they’re a band and Harry’s the instrument they hadn’t even known they’d been missing.

Harry and Niall get on like a house on fire, although Liam isn’t sure that’s really saying much; Niall could get on with a brick wall. (He actually _had_ gotten on with a brick wall once.) Louis has already started teasing Harry, a clear indicator that he likes him—and Harry’s been taking it well in stride, already dishing it right back at Louis. (Unlike Liam, who’d been fairly sure Louis hated him when they first met because of all the teasing.) Even Zayn, once he’d woken up and smoked a bit, seems to like him too, or at least likes laughing incredulously at him.

Harry seems like good people, although a bit of an odd duck to say the least. In the hours since he’d joined them the conversation had meandered all over the place, from music to communal living to aliens to astrology, and whether it was spouting off something that sounded like the slip from a fortune cookie, speaking in circles around the same point for fifteen minutes, announcing that he’d met an alien once, or accurately naming all of their signs without knowing any of their birthdays, Harry always had something to say on the topic at hand. He’s interesting, even if half the time Liam isn’t really sure what he’s saying. (Half the time Liam doesn’t think Harry even knows what he’s saying.)

Really, the only thing Liam doesn’t like about him is the way he seems to stare through people. _Into_ people. When he wasn’t staring into the distance like he was seeing something that wasn’t really there, that is. That was…mildly disconcerting.

But even with the whole staring thing, he’s nice enough that Liam doesn’t really mind. Not enough to _leave him behind._ “I like him.”

“You do?” Louis says sharply, as if he’s surprised, and Liam is almost offended, not sure if it’s on Harry’s behalf or his own. “It’s just—you’ve been a bit weird since we picked him up.”

Liam bites his lip, immediately feeling guilty again as he thinks back to the incident with Niall. He might have been a bit quiet since, but he’s always been a bit quieter than the rest of them, except maybe Zayn. Even if the beautiful comment had been jarring, none of the after was really Harry’s fault. Liam’s just a bit fucked up, that’s all. (As it turns out, Harry has a habit of calling lots of things beautiful—like Niall’s harmonica, and the alien he’d met, and the flowers in his hair. Liam’s still not sure if that makes his comment from before better or worse.)

The toilet flushes, and Louis continues as he zips up. “Now, I like making new friends, but not at the expense of my old ones, ya dig?” Liam turns back to face him as Louis runs the tap, and finds Louis looking back at him through the mirror with an uncommonly serious expression. “So if he’s making you uncomfortable, we’re fine with leaving him behind.”

“We?” Liam raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t remember Louis talking with any of the other guys about this, considering they haven’t had a moment’s privacy since they picked Harry up.

“Yes, me and the guys have all talked about it,” Louis says, waving a flippant hand, spraying water droplets. Liam’s not so sure about that, but then Louis presses, “So are we leaving him, or…?”

Liam shifts uncomfortably, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I dunno. He’s a bit weird, but.” He shrugs, letting his hand drop, holding both of them out in a helpless gesture. “It’s a good kind of weird? Better than my kind of weird, at least.” Louis’ mouth pinches, like it always does when Liam starts talking badly about himself—even though Louis talked worse about himself all the time—so Liam just repeats, “I like him.” At least that much was true. He may be confused by Harry more often than not, but he’s sure that he likes him. There is something…inexplicably charming about him.

Louis gives him a sharp considering look, and for a second Liam thinks he’s made the wrong choice, but then Louis’s face splits into a wide grin. “Groovy.” He turns the tap off, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I like him too. He seems like a good lad.” Then he adds, mostly to himself, “Nice little body.”

Liam feels his face flush again, because he’s noticed that part, too. Harry’s vest does very little to actually cover his body, and he—well. Like Louis said. Liam’s not as used to openly admiring the male form as Louis and Zayn are, though. The army tended to frown on that sort of thing. (Among others. Like the church. And his father.)

Clearing his throat, Liam raises his eyebrows at Louis. “You done then?”

Giving Liam a winning grin, Louis pats his cheek, almost hard enough to be a smack. His hands are still a bit wet. “Yep!” Liam grimaces as Louis dodges around him, cackling as he unlocks the door and slips out while Liam is still wiping at his cheek.

As it turns out, ‘helping Louis grab food’ is actually Louis grabbing a case of beer and a handful of candy and then standing at the counter to flirt with the girl behind the register while Liam picks out actual sustenance. (Well, Louis tries to flirt; she looks distinctly unimpressed.)

“Can we get a carton of Marlboros too, love?” he says with a wink as Liam gets up to the counter with his armful of food. As she turns away with a roll of her eyes, Louis looks down to judge Liam’s choices. “Bananas?” he says with a scowl, flicking the fruit off the top of the pile.

“Harry said he liked them,” Liam says with a shrug, feeling his face flush when Louis gives him a meaningful look.

Thankfully the girl comes back just then, slapping the box of cigarettes on top of the beer. “Is that gonna be all for you guys?” she says in a bored tone.

Louis turns on her with a bright grin. “Well, here’s the thing,” he begins conspiratorially, leaning over the counter. She eyes his bare chest distastefully. “My buddy Liam here,” he says, pointing over his shoulder at Liam, whose eyes widen as he realizes what Louis is about to do, “was just telling me how pretty he thinks you are.”

She’d been close enough to hear their actual conversation, but her eyes still flick over to Liam for confirmation, a bit hopeful. Or at least, not as disinterested to hear that as she was to hear anything else Louis had said so far. Liam holds his hands up, stuttering as he tries to deny. “I—I, no, I—”

“He’s just _shy_ ,” Louis interrupts, slinging an arm around Liam’s shoulders, and Liam wants to punch him. “But he’d really like your number.”

“We don’t even have a phone,” Liam hisses, elbowing Louis away, but Louis just grins like he’d told some kind of joke.

“We don’t,” Louis agrees, before picking up one of the apples Liam had also grabbed. “But I bet _she_ does. You could call her when we get to Woodstock!” He bites into the apple noisily, juice running down and catching in the scruff on his cheek, grinning as he chews. Liam wrinkles his nose.

“I don’t _want_ to—sorry,” he says, turning back to her, “sorry, but I don’t want to call you when we get to Woodstock. Not that you’re not—” He gestures vaguely, and her eyebrow lifts in amusement. “I mean, yes, you’re pretty, but I—”

“See how he gets?” Louis says to the girl, giving her a simpering smile as he one-handedly hauls the beer under his arm, the cigarettes tucked in on top. “Isn’t he just the cutest?” Liam resists the strong urge to smack it all out of his hands.

“Ignore him,” Liam advises the girl.

“I’ve been trying,” she says with a smirk in Liam’s direction. Louis doesn’t even pretend to be offended, just takes another bite of his apple as he heads for the door.

“Thanks, babe!” he calls over his shoulder, and Liam isn’t entirely sure if he’s talking to Liam or the girl.

Liam just rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he turns back to the girl. “Sorry about him.”

She shrugs, bagging up their items in a brown paper sack as she punches them in. “He’s not the worst I’ve had to deal with. Not even today.” Not sure what to say to that, Liam just gives her a tight smile. Then she adds, “And you’re much cuter than most of the friends I get passed on to.”

“Uh. Thank you?”

She laughs at that, bagging up his last item, and then flips her long dark hair over her shoulder as she reads him the total. His eyes catch on the homemade nametag that reads _Diana_ , then on the way her striped t-shirt is stretches across her chest. Liam quickly pulls his eyes away before he’s caught looking. The look on her face when he finds her eyes says he’s been caught anyway, but at least she looks somewhat pleased about it.

“So, are you guys actually going to Woodstock?” she says, leaning over the counter on her elbows as Liam reaches for his wallet. “I’ve heard about it on the radio.”

Liam nods, focusing on counting out the right bills instead of her chest. “Been driving since yesterday. Hoping to get there by tonight.”

“Where’re y’all from?” she asks as she takes his money, the register popping open with a loud ding.

Liam blanches, because that’s a bit of a loaded question. They’re from…all over: Niall from Ireland, Zayn from Pakistan and then Detroit, and he’s never heard Louis call anywhere but the van home. Harry still hasn’t specified anything other than “everywhere and nowhere.”

“Kansas,” he answers finally, because at least he can account for himself.

She nods, counting out his change. “Are you planning on passing this way when you go back home?”

And _that_ is an even more loaded question. They have no destination in mind other than the festival, and no plans for after. Liam doesn’t really mind, so long as they don’t go back to Kansas.

“Maybe,” he hedges as she hands him back his change.

“Well _maybe_ you can come see me again,” she says with a smile, leaning onto the counter again, twirling a strand of hair in her fingers. She has small hands, dainty and delicate. The soft curves of her body should look inviting, but Liam finds himself looking away, back out to the van, wondering if the boys are waiting on him. “You should give me a call, see if I’m working.”

“Uh. Sure,” Liam says, not quite sure what he’s agreeing to, and quickly gathers the bag into his arms, already backing towards the door. “We’ll see?”

“Don’t you want my number?” she calls after him, leaning over the counter even more, and all Liam can do is give her a strangled laugh as he pushes through the door.

He blows out a breath as he approaches the van, shaking his head. He’s going to _kill_ Louis, throwing him to the wolves like that—

Liam pulls up short at the sound of music.

_“…Please get out of the new one, if you can’t lend a hand, for the times, they are a-changin’…”_

He rounds the back of the van to find the doors swung wide open, Harry and Niall perched in doorway. Harry has his guitar in an easy, practiced grip, while Niall is on his harmonica, the burnished metal glinting in his mouth. Zayn’s back in the driver’s seat, hand dangling out the window, his lit cigarette bobbing along to the song, while Louis’ has stolen Liam’s seat in the front, his lit lighter held aloft as he sways in time.

All of that’s not exactly surprising, but the gas attendant swaying from side to side with his eyes closed, apparently enraptured with the performance, kind of is. Liam hadn’t pegged him for a Bob Dylan fan.

_“The line it is drawn, the curse it is cast, the slow one now will later be last…”_

As Harry continues singing, Liam can’t pull his eyes away. Harry has a good voice—Liam hadn’t really been able to tell how good earlier, when he’d been singing along with them—and he’s a bit mesmerizing when he sings. He puts all he has into it, eyes closed and mouth open wide, his expression wracked with emotion. He relaxes only somewhat when he finishes the verse, his eyes still closed as he puts his entire body into playing the guitar for Niall’s last harmonica solo.

Liam desperately wishes he hadn’t taken so long inside so he could have seen more.

When Niall’s finished with his solo, Harry repeats the last line a few times before ending the song with a flourish of notes; Louis immediately starts clapping and cheering, the old man and Zayn following suit. Liam would have joined if he didn’t have his hands full.

Harry’s face blooms with a bright smile as Niall claps him on the shoulder. Liam kind of wants to poke into Harry’s dimples.

“Thank you, boys,” the gas attendant says, tearing Liam’s attention away from Harry. The man’s voice is dry and crackly, reminding Liam strongly of an old corn husk. “I do love me some Bobby.”

“Who doesn’t?” Louis chimes in, now leaning out of the window, and the old man raises his gas pump like he’s toasting Louis.

“Good show, boys,” Liam says, gathering Harry and Niall’s attention at the same time.

“Liam!” Harry says with a grin, while at the same time Niall shouts, “Food!”

With a laugh, Liam hands the bag off to Niall, then hauls himself up and into Zayn’s old spot in the far back seats, dodging around Harry’s bag. With the windows painted enough to block most of the light, the luggage towering up on one side and the seat a decent barrier on the other, it’s a bit like a cocoon. Zayn loves it back here; Niall hates it.

From here, he can still see the back of Niall’s head, bent over as he rifles through the paper bag, and Harry beside him, twisted around to look at Liam, still grinning. “Niall wanted to see my guitar,” he tells Liam, gesturing with it in his hand. “And then Charlie asked if we knew any Bob Dylan.”

“Can you believe?” Niall said, suddenly twisting to look at Liam, distracting him from asking who Charlie is.

“Everyone knows Bob Dylan,” Harry agrees, his deadpan tone at odds with the smile he’s wearing.

But Niall is still spluttering, pointing in Harry’s direction, “Then this fucker asked if I knew ‘Times They Are A-Changin’! _Can you believe?_ ”

Liam can’t stop giggling, at Niall’s indignation and Harry’s cool grin. “Everyone knows Bob Dylan,” Liam agrees, faux-sternly, shaking a finger in Harry’s direction.

Harry bites it.

Liam freezes. His eyes are wide, fixated on where his finger disappears into Harry’s mouth. Harry’s _mouth_ , the corners of it turning up ever-so-smugly. Harry’s tongue brushes against the tip of his finger.

“Alrighty then, you boys are all set!”

Liam pulls his hand back so suddenly that he feels Harry’s teeth scrape over his knuckle. “Bwuh?” he says intelligently, clutching his own hand as he turns to look at the man, trying to ignore the sting of Harry’s teeth and Harry’s expression.

“You’re all set,” the man says again, his smile easy as he wipes his hands with a towel tied to his belt.

Liam is still fumbling with himself, but Harry turns to face the man, reaching out to set his big hand on top of one of the old man’s. “Thank you,” he says sincerely. “You’re a good man, Charlie.”

The old man’s face cracks into a huge smile, and then he takes a step back, reaching for the doors, as Zayn cranks the engine. “You boys have a safe trip now!”

“We will!” Harry promises, loud enough to be heard over the doors shutting, as Niall calls out a “Cheers!” Then they start moving; in the front seat, Louis twists around, sticking half his body out the window to wave goodbye.

“Oi!” Niall says, already back to rifling through the bag. “Where’s my fish?”

“What,” Liam said, grateful for the further distraction, because his finger still stings. He leans over the back to peer more closely at Niall. The bag’s cradled between Niall’s skinny knees, half the contents of it tossed onto the seat between him and Harry.

“My Swedish Fish!” Niall says, waving his harmonica around in one hand, digging deep into the bottom of the bag with the other. “I specifically _asked_ —”

Niall cuts off with a yelp when a bright yellow package hits him in the head, thrown by Louis with deadly accuracy from the front seat. Upon realizing it is, in fact, his fish, Niall makes a happy noise, then dumps the brown bag onto the floor to settle himself more comfortably in his seat. “Cheers, lads!”

“Bananas!” Harry says suddenly, diving for the floor and nearly braining himself with his guitar in the process. When he surfaces again, hair and petals flying, he’s wearing another brilliant smile, the small bunch of bananas held aloft like some kind of treasure. “Bananas!” he repeats, showing them off to Niall, who just raises a dubious eyebrow, his mouth bulging with gummy fish.

“You said you liked them,” Liam says quietly, diligently avoiding Louis’ raised eyebrow from the front seat, but that only leaves him susceptible to the radiant grin Harry turns on him.

“You got them for _me_?” Harry says, clutching the bananas to his chest like they’re something precious. He looks like an overgrown excited child.

Liam shrugs, feeling his face heat up under Harry’s earnest gaze. “You think this lot is gonna eat fruit?” he says, gesturing to the other boys; Niall is still munching happily on his fish, while Louis has draped himself over the front seat, scrounging through the groceries Niall spilled, wondering aloud if there’s any jerky, and Zayn is lighting another cigarette, telling Louis to grab him some too. Not exactly the picture of healthy choices, there.

But Harry is just shaking his head, still grinning, as he sets his guitar down. “You got them for me,” he repeats, and the next grin he turns on Liam is rather smug.

“Of course he did,” Louis pipes up; he’s still half-draped over the front seat, package of jerky in his hands. As Louis turns to Harry, Liam gets the same sinking feeling he had in the shop. The smile on Louis’ face can only mean bad news. “He _likes_ you,” Louis says with a waggle of his eyebrows. “He told me so.”

Zayn laughs, punching Louis in the shoulder, while Niall catcalls; Liam is pretty sure his face is on fire. “No!” He quickly backtracks when Harry’s face falls and Louis’ eyebrow rises, feeling about a hundred times more flustered than he had in the shop. “I mean—yes, I like you—” Harry grins again, the other boys making more noise, “—but not—like _that_ , I mean—”

The more he sputters, the louder the other boys get—except for Harry, who just keeps smiling at Liam, pulling one of the bananas off the bunch. “I was just being nice!” Liam finally manages. “He said he liked them!”

This does nothing to make the boys quiet down—if anything, they just get louder—and Liam covers his burning face with his hands, shaking his head, not sure how he got in this mess. It isn’t like that. It _isn’t_. He was just—

“I like you too, Liam,” Harry says easily, and Liam’s head shoots up. As soon as his eyes find Harry’s, Harry winks, his smile turning to more of a smirk as he peels his banana. Liam opens his mouth, but whatever protest he had ends up strangled in his throat as Harry—still making steady eye contact—brings the banana up to his mouth, tongue first to catch it. Liam can do nothing but watch, half-horrified, half-intrigued, as half the banana disappears. He tries valiantly not to think of what _else_ Harry could fit in his mouth like that.

He winces only slightly when Harry bites down, his cheeks bulging as he chews. Jesus, Harry’s mouth is—obscene. _Harry_ is obscene.

It takes Niall’s impressed whistle for Liam to realize that the rest of the van has gone quiet, all of the other boys watching the exchange. Even Zayn, staring through the rearview mirror. Louis is still hanging over the seat, his mouth hanging open with his eyes on Harry.

“What?” Harry asks in mock innocence, his mouth still full of banana, and this at least makes Louis blink and shut his mouth.

“You,” Louis says, pointing at Harry as he hauls himself up, head brushing the roof of the van, “are a menace.”

Harry grins.

*

The traffic steadily thickens as they get closer to New York, the highway filling up and everything slowing to a crawl as they come upon the small town of Bethel.

Eventually it gets so slow that they’re pretty much stopped, moving half a foot every half hour, sometimes longer. When it becomes obvious they aren’t really going anywhere for a bit, they all find things to occupy themselves with: Zayn starts smoking cigarette after cigarette, stuck behind the wheel. Louis makes Liam dig out a blanket before climbing up onto the roof to sun himself. Harry digs through his backpack and pulls out a camera nearly as beat up as his guitar, while Niall throws open the side doors, settling with his legs dangling out as he plays Harry’s guitar.

Liam remains in the back, shoving Harry’s bag to the floor so he can lay down and close his eyes, and listens to Niall play, humming along every once in a while as the shutter of Harry’s camera goes off intermittently. It’s warm, a bit humid, and when combined with the quiet rumble of the van and Niall’s soft playing, Liam finds himself dozing a bit.

Then the camera goes off much closer than before. Liam squints one eye open, grimacing when he sees Harry’s camera in his face. “Ugh, what’re you…” he mumbles, bringing a hand up to get between his face and the lens.

“Smile!” Harry sings, and Liam rolls his eyes, letting his hand drop and staring Harry’s camera down in mock-seriousness. The shutter goes off.

Liam flips the camera off. When the shutter goes again, he can’t help but laugh, and then the shutter sounds again.

“Stop, would you?” he laughs, and Harry takes another picture. “You shouldn’t waste your film like that.”

“Excuse me, Liam,” Harry says, finally putting his camera down—just so he can show Liam his offended expression, “you think I’m _wasting film?_ ” Liam shrugs, trying not to laugh at Harry’s righteous indignation as he continues, “I’ll have you know, _Liam_ , that I _never_ waste a shot.”

Liam quickly schools his face into a similarly serious expression. “Never.”

They continue staring at each other, but then Liam feels his mouth twitch, and then Harry’s dimple starts peeking, and then both of them burst into laughter.

Then the van jerks into motion. Louis shouts from the roof, Niall curses as one of the side doors starts to swing shut, while Liam slams his hand against the back of the seat to stop himself from tipping to the floor. Harry drops his camera on Liam’s stomach, and Liam scrambles to catch it before it goes tipping, too. Harry reaches for it, but then the van stops again, barely a car length away from where they started, and it sends him lurching back.

Liam takes the opportunity to snatch up the camera, bringing it up to his eye to take a picture just as Harry rises back up over the seat, all wild hair and wide grin. He doesn’t stop grinning when he notices the camera in Liam’s hand, only hams it up even more, until his smile is more just a baring of teeth, and Liam laughs, taking another picture.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Harry says, once Liam has taken half a dozen more pictures of Harry in various poses, and holds his hand out for the camera. Liam just takes another picture. “Heeey,” Harry pouts, reaching for it, and Liam just snaps another picture, laughing, before turning away, trying to hide the camera out of reach.

Harry’s got the advantage though, higher ground and longer arms, and Liam turning into the seat to hide the camera exposes his weak spot—his ticklish sides. Once Harry discovers them, he goes at them mercilessly, tickling Liam until he’s pealing with laughter.

“Okay, okay, uncle, uncle!” Liam cries, breathless, and Harry stops immediately. Liam looks over his shoulder at Harry, a grin lingering around his mouth, and finds Harry looking back, his eyes sparkling with mirth. The sun is shining in, turning the flyaway hairs around his head into a halo of gold, dimples carved deep into his cheeks. Niall is humming something, finger slowly picking at the strings.

On instinct, he lifts the camera to his eye. Harry’s features soften just the slightest bit, but it only makes the moment better, makes something in Liam’s chest clench as he presses down the button. He wishes this wasn’t Harry’s camera, wasn’t his film, because Liam wants to keep this. He wants to hold the proof of this moment in his hands. He wants to remember the way Harry looks in the light forever.

Liam slowly lowers the camera, his gaze locked with Harry’s. He offers the camera back, but Harry doesn’t take it. Instead he props his elbow on the back of the seat, chin in hand, and just looks down on Liam. He’s wearing a Cheshire cat grin.

Just when Harry opens his mouth, Louis starts banging on the roof. Liam jumps, and the moment snaps.

“Zayn!” Louis calls, banging again.

“What?” Zayn calls back, flicking his cigarette. There are more noises from the roof, and then Louis’ head dangles in front of the windshield. His hair hangs down around his head like a shaggy halo.

“There’s a field, just over there.” He points off towards the farmland next to them. “There are some cars parked, people setting up camp.”

Zayn squints for a moment; Liam doesn’t think he can see the parked cars any better than Liam can from the back. But then Zayn shrugs, trusting Louis anyway. “Okay.”

*

It takes another eon, but they finally get the van parked in one of the many haphazard rows that had sprung up. Louis hops down immediately, already running for the copse of trees nearby. “Gotta piss!” he shouts as he goes. Liam is pretty sure Louis either has a bladder the size of a pea or an intense need to mark any territory he comes across.

Niall laughs and points, while Zayn rolls his eyes as he steps out of the driver’s side. He stretches his body out, arching his back until it pops, groaning all the while. Niall hops out at Harry’s urging, working his bum knee a bit as he walks around. Harry follows with all the grace of a newborn colt.

“I gotta piss too,” Niall announces as Liam clambers out. Zayn, already puffing on a new cigarette, nods his agreement. They both start heading after Louis, and Liam makes to follow, even though he doesn’t really have to go.

“Hey,” Harry says, catching Liam’s sleeve as he walks by where Harry is leaning against the van. Liam lets himself be pulled in. Zayn holds back as well, a wary eyebrow raised, but Liam waves him off. With a nod, Zayn continues on, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he trails after Niall.

“Yeah?” Liam prompts when Harry is quiet for a minute, watching the other boys walk off. Harry blinks, glancing at Liam before looking down at the ground. He brings one hand up to his mouth, fingers tugging at his bottom lip, and Liam really wishes he wouldn’t because it makes it hard to concentrate on anything but Harry’s mouth.

“I want to… apologize,” Harry finally says, letting go of his lip, thank God. He’s frowning, a deep wrinkle creasing his brow; Liam wants to smooth it out with his fingers. He doesn’t. “If what I said earlier…” Harry’s hand gestures uselessly in the air between them. “…upset you.”

Liam opens his mouth, ready to deflect it immediately, but Harry apparently isn’t done. He looks up at Liam, looking shy for the first time since he’s gotten in their van, before raising his chin, setting his jaw, and looking Liam straight in the eye as he says, “I meant it, though.”

Anything Liam was about to say sticks in his throat.

“You’re beautiful,” Harry adds earnestly, one hand reaching out to wrap around Liam’s wrist, stupidly effective at trapping him. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but it’s true. I wish you could see it, your aura—”

“You’re wrong,” Liam interrupts, finally getting his mouth to cooperate. “I’m not—” He shakes his head dazedly, looking down at Harry’s hand around his wrist before looking back up to Harry’s face. “I’m not.”

“You _are_ ,” Harry insists, eyes locked with Liam’s, and he’s doing that fucking— _thing_ again, staring _into_ him; Liam feels incredibly exposed. “You’re one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever met, Liam. Inside and out.”

“Why are you doing this?” His heart is racing. He’s acutely aware of where Harry’s fingers are pressing into the pulse point on his wrist, and for a second he swears he can hear the distinct wap-wap-wapping of a helicopter in the distance.

“I’m sorry.” Harry shrugs, his hand squeezing at Liam briefly. “I was just trying to be nice.”

“Well—don’t.”

Narrowing his eyes, Harry looks into Liam for a long moment. “Why don’t you think you’re beautiful, Liam?”

Liam blinks in surprise, hundreds of reasons running through his mind, only some of them having to do with the man in front of him. Where does he even start? He tears his gaze away from Harry’s, clenching his jaw as he looks down at the ground. “I’m just—I’m just not, okay?”

Harry lets go of his arm, only to bring his hand up to Liam’s cheek. “Liam.” He guides Liam’s face up, trying to catch his eye, but Liam just pulls himself up to attention, back straight, eyes distant. He’s well-trained in avoiding eye contact.

“Ah,” Harry says, his eyes widening in a sudden understanding; there’s a sad twist to his mouth as he drops his hand. Liam reminds himself that he’s not supposed to miss the warm weight of it. “I see.”

Liam frowns, focusing back in on Harry’s face as Harry pulls away slightly. “See what?”

“Army, yeah? Or something like it?”

“Army,” Liam confirms, not entirely sure how Harry could tell, but Harry also knew he was a Virgo without asking, so he doesn’t really question it. “Three years.”

Pulling at his lip again, Harry nods. “Were you on the front line?”

Liam shrugs, his well-practiced, sanitized version of the truth already falling out of his mouth. “There was no front line. It was boring most of the time—” He cuts off, hearing the sound of helicopters again, closer this time, but he can’t see any.

He looks back at Harry, finding him giving Liam another considering look. He really hopes Harry doesn’t ask the questions most people like to ask next: _Did you get any action? Kill any Commies?_ He’s not really in the mood.

Instead, Harry surprises him—which, really, he’s starting to think he should just always expect the unexpected with Harry—and pulls Liam into a hug.

Liam sputters a bit, going stiff, but Harry holds on, his long arms wrapped tight around Liam. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Harry says into Liam’s shoulder. Liam doesn’t really know what to say to that, so instead he just pats at Harry’s back awkwardly. He thinks there might be a flower in his mouth.

Finally, Harry releases him, but only just enough to look Liam in the eye. “Listen,” Harry says seriously, and Liam swallows. Harry seems to be searching for something, but Liam doesn’t know what to give him, so he just lets Harry look. “I don’t know what kinds of things you did or saw over there, but no matter how the war changed you, I know that right here, right now? You? Are a good man.” He shakes Liam a bit on those last two words, trying to drive the point home.

Liam just feels itchy and uncomfortable. He finally looks away from Harry’s eyes, down to where the toes of Liam’s dirty Converse are almost touching the toes of Harry’s scuffed boots. “You don’t even know me. I—we only met eight hours ago.”

Harry sounds like some kind of benevolent god when he replies, “I know enough.”

Liam wants to believe him. “Thank you,” he finally says, because if nothing else, he was raised to be polite.

It seems to be the right answer, because Harry smiles. It’s small, and a bit…sad, but it’s a smile nonetheless. Then Harry pulls Liam in for another hug, this one too quick for Liam to really react before Harry releases him. “Come on,” he says, nodding after Niall and Zayn. He smacks a kiss to Liam’s forehead, then skips off after them.

Liam watches him go, brushing his fingers over the spot on his forehead where Harry’s lips had just touched.

*

Liam doesn’t follow them, deciding to start making the tent instead. He could set up a tent in his sleep, but he needs something to do with his hands. By the time he hears Niall’s laughter trailing across the field, signaling their return, he has it mostly done.

“Whoa, far out, look at that!” Louis says loudly when they’re close; he starts clapping, and Niall and Harry quickly join in, Niall giving a whoop.

Liam doesn’t look up, still hammering the last stake into the ground, but he lets himself smile a bit. He likes working with his hands, having something to show at the end of it, feeling like he’s contributing something to the group. It’s nice to be appreciated for it.

“Our little Boy Scout!” Niall says with a laugh, rubbing a hand over Liam’s head as he walks by. Liam scowls and swats at him with the mallet, but he’s already too far away, making a beeline for the van with Louis at his side.

“Nice, Liam,” Zayn says with a grin, settling down cross-legged in the grass, his silver smoking case in his hands.

He feels more than sees Harry come up behind him, stopping just inside Liam’s peripheral vision. Harry whistles, long and low, and settles his hands on his hips. “That’s some nice work, Liam.”

“Thanks,” Liam grits out, giving the stake a few more good whacks, and then he tosses the mallet down. He sighs as he rises to his feet, surveying his work.

“Y’ever time yourself doin’ that?” Niall asks, making his way over to where Zayn’s rolling a joint. He settles down next to him, popping gummy fish into his mouth. “Think you could beat a world record or summat.”

Liam wrinkles his nose. He can be fast, but not that fast.

“Do they even have a world record for setting up tents?” Louis asks, hauling the case of beer over to Niall and Zayn.

“They have world records for everything,” Niall confirms as Louis sits and starts opening the case.

Louis takes the first beer for himself, popping it open and taking a long swig. Zayn rolls his eyes and leans over to grab one while Louis isn’t looking. He opens it, then offers it up to Liam as he walks up to their loose half-circle. “Thanks for setting up the tent, man.”

Liam shrugs. "It was no problem." He usually ends up on tent duty anyway. And fire duty. And food duty. Honestly, he's surprised the other three have managed to survive this long without him.

By the time Louis puts his can down—at least half-empty by now—Zayn has already opened and passed another beer to Niall. Louis narrows his eyes at Zayn, who just looks back at him with a completely unapologetic expression. They have a silent conversation, and then Louis pulls out the next beer and holds it up. “Harry!”

Harry looks over from where he’d been rummaging inside the van, looking a bit like a startled deer. He turns to Louis, guitar in hand. “Yes?”

Louis waves the beer. “You’re staying for a bit, yeah?”

Harry’s eyes flick over to Liam first. Liam tries to keep his face neutral, even though he’s a bit afraid of what Harry’s answer will be. There’s no real reason for Harry to stick around now that they’ve gotten him here, but Liam still finds himself desperately hoping he’ll say yes.

Harry looks away, quickly skipping over the other boys before settling on Louis. “Yes,” he says slowly, sounding a bit unsure. Liam smiles, while Louis rolls his eyes.

“Then get down here and drink my beer before I change my mind.”

Harry doesn’t wait to be asked twice, quickly coming over and settling in the grass between Liam and Niall, completing the circle. “Thank you,” he says politely as he takes the beer.

“You’re welcome. And _you_ ,” he says, turning to Zayn, who has already taken another beer for himself. “Wait your turn!”

Zayn says nothing, but keeps his eyes locked defiantly with Louis’ as he opens the beer and starts drinking it. Louis just scoffs, rolling his eyes, and waves him off. Zayn finds Liam’s eye and winks; Liam can’t help but smile back.

As Louis starts to go on about something, Harry settles the guitar in his lap, hands going to automatic places on the strings. Liam finds himself unable to look away. Harry's fingers move gently over the strings, his face an expression of quiet concentration as he starts plucking out a tune, something soft and tender and maybe a little bit sad.

“What is that?” Niall says, cutting into whatever Louis had been saying, before he takes a swig of his beer. Liam takes one too, gaze still stuck to Harry.

Harry shakes his head, and Liam watches the flowers tied into his hair bounce a bit before Harry speaks, still plucking at the strings. “Nothing special.”

“Did you write it then?” Liam asks, leaning closer, watching his fingers move. “I really like it.”

Harry’s fingers still on the strings as he turns to look back at Liam, his smile pleased and maybe a bit shy. “Thank you, Liam.”

Liam beams back, sitting back to listen as Harry picks the tune back up, his eyes closing as he plays.  When Liam looks to the other boys, all three of them are wearing similar knowing grins. He points a warning finger at them, which only makes Louis’ smile grow wicked.

“We should get a fire going soon,” Liam announces before Louis can open his mouth. He stands up quickly, the sudden movement making Harry stop playing. “I’ll go get some firewood.”

“I’ll help,” Harry says, moving to set his guitar aside. Liam wants to tell him no, because Louis is already wiggling his eyebrows, and he’s sure Niall will start making kissy faces as soon as Harry’s back is turned, but the idea of leaving him alone with them, where they could say anything about Liam, makes him even more uncomfortable.

“Okay,” he says, a little too late, but Harry doesn't seem to notice, already rising to his feet, the guitar in Niall's hands. Harry starts ambling off towards the trees, and Liam looks back at his friends. Louis' grin is almost scary, while Niall's kissy face is ridiculous. Zayn's face hasn't changed at all, but is somehow the worst.

"I hate you all," Liam says, and starts off after Harry.

This is going to be a long weekend.

 


	2. August 14, 1969

**August 14, 1969**  
_Bethel, NY_

_“The time to hesitate is through; no time to wallow in the mire…”_

*

Louis wakes up with Zayn’s hair in his mouth. Liam’s knee is in his kidney. He can hear Niall snoring on the other side of the tent. It’s hot and cramped and humid. His head hurts. He has to piss.

He lies still, willing himself to go back to sleep. But Niall’s snoring is just on this side of annoying, and the longer he lays there, the more demanding his bladder gets.

“Fuck,” he grumbles, spitting out Zayn’s hair.

He ungainly untangles himself from Zayn and Liam. He trips his way out of the tent and into the pale morning light, his eyes barely open. He’s going to piss, and then he’s going to pass right the fuck back out.

It’s early.  _Too_  early. He feels like they only just went to bed. It had been pretty damn late when they’d all decided to cram themselves into the tent. They’d all been lazy and drunk and stoned. They’d piled on top of each other, mumbling about nothing. Anything.

Louis doesn’t know when exactly he fell asleep. It had been long after their neighbors two cars down finally stopped playing their guitars. Harry had been in the middle of telling a story, something about…whatever.

Now, the sun is just barely peeking up over the horizon. It’s quiet. A few birds chirp in the distance. There’s a haze lingering around the cars and tents. Louis can’t tell if it’s fog or smoke.

It’s difficult to navigate the uneven ground, haphazard campsites and parked cars that are between him and the nearest copse of trees. Louis is firmly dedicated to not opening his eyes any more than absolutely necessary, so the dim light and wet grass don’t help at all. Luckily, he survives.

The first tree he runs into is given the honor of being his pissing tree, and he braces himself with one hand against it, the bark rough underneath his palm. He lets his head hang, eyes closed, as he does his business.

Twigs snap nearby. It’s too close and too loud to be any of the twittering birds. He squints one eye open to investigate, praying it isn’t anything bigger than a squirrel; he’s  _really_  not in the mood to be caught with his dick out at ass o’clock in the morning by anything else.

But apparently, God hates him, because the small creature looking up at him curiously is definitely bigger than a squirrel.

“Um. Hello.” His voice is rough from last night, comes out as some kind of croak. He winces.

The child—can’t be older than four—continues staring up at Louis, eyes wide and blue, but doesn’t say anything, too busy sucking on a dirty-looking thumb stuck in their mouth. The shock of blond hair on their head is pulled back into a wispy ponytail, and they’re almost completely naked but for a cloth diaper. Louis stands there, mostly in shock and wondering where the hell this kid came from, until they pull their thumb from their mouth long enough to say, “You have a penis.”

Louis blinks, then laughs, looking down at where his dick is still in his hand. “Yes I do,” he agrees. Thankfully, the shock of the situation has made him stop pissing, so after a quick shake, he tucks himself back into his pants.

As he’s zipping himself up, the child announces, “I have a vagina.”

“Do you now?” he says, brushing his hands on his jeans as he steps closer, looking around. Maybe someone claiming the little girl will pop out of the trees.

She nods, hair flying, talking around her thumb as she adds, “My mommy has one too.”

“I should hope so,” Louis chuckles. He gets close enough to squat down to the girl’s level, looking her in the eye. “Hi there.”

“Hi!” she says brightly, and Louis can’t help but grin at her as she adds, “I’m Lux!”

“Lux?” She nods vigorously. He clears his throat, but it doesn’t help. “My name’s Louis.”

“Pleased to meet you,” she says primly, smiling wide, her teeth small and pearly. She holds out the hand that had just been in her mouth.

“Pleased to meet you,” Louis echoes with a laugh, taking her hand. She grips it with all the strength a four-year-old can muster, which is a surprising amount. Once she drops it, she sticks her thumb back in her mouth, grinning at Louis around it. Louis shakes his head, tearing his eyes away from the adorable picture to look around again. His stomach sinks when there don’t seem to be any frantic women searching in the near vicinity. “Are you lost, sweetie?”

The girl looks around too, frowning as if only just now noticing her surroundings. “Mommy and daddy are sleeping,” she says, which isn’t really an answer. She frowns back up at Louis, but at least she doesn’t look scared or sad. “But I got bored, so. I went exploring!” She flings her arms out wide, almost whacking Louis in the nose, and Louis chuckles a bit. He can’t even blame her for going off on her own; he was an easily bored child as well. Hell, if it were Louis, he’d be halfway to Canada by now.

He still wants to make sure she’s not lost, though. There are a lot of people here, and it’ll be a nightmare to find her parents if she is. “Do you know your way back?”

She narrows her eyes, looking all around them, from the trees to their right, to the gathering of cars on their left, and then finally back at Louis. She nods decisively, then points behind her. “That way.”

“Are you sure?” he presses, not meaning to sound patronizing.

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m  _sure_.”

Narrowing his eyes, he tells her, “I don’t believe you,” even though he kind of does. She lets out an indignant sound. “Can you show me?”

“Yes, I can  _show_   _you._ ” She immediately spins on her heel, turning back just long enough to grab Louis’ hand before marching them both forward.

She chatters animatedly as they walk. Louis tries to keep up and ask questions, but it’s too early for him to be at full functionality yet. He just hums at what he hopes are the right points.

They’ve been walking for a few minutes, past four other cars and campsites but keeping to the line of the trees, when a woman’s voice says, “Lux?”

Lux cuts off in the middle of her sentence. “Mommy!” She drops Louis’ hand to run into the arms of the blonde woman leaning against a red Chevy Impala, parked a car or two deep from them. She’s wearing a long purple skirt and what looks like a handkerchief with two straps sewn on. Her hair is long and straight, her feet muddy and bare.

The woman beams as she scoops Lux into her arms, giving her a loud smacking kiss on her cheek. “There you are!” she says, kissing Lux again and again, on her other cheek, her nose, her forehead, while Lux giggles. “I was wondering where you went off to.”

“I made a friend!” Lux announces, pointing back at Louis. “He has a penis!”

Louis cringes, but her mother just bursts into laughter, throwing her head back with a loud cackle. “Yes he does!” she agrees, resettling Lux in her arms so she’s situated on one of her hips. She turns to Louis, and when she extends her hand to him, the dozen or so bangles around her wrist clink against each other. “I’m Lou.”

Louis blinks, then chuckles, stepping forward to take her hand. She’s wearing a ring on every finger, it looks like. “Hello Lou. I’m Louis.”

She laughs again. “Well that should be easy to remember, at least!”

“Lou?” a man’s voice calls. Lux gasps in excitement, immediately squirming in her mother’s arms.

“Daddy!” she shouts as Lou sets her down. Her feet barely touch the ground before she takes off towards the tent pitched up next to the car. In Louis’ opinion, she has way too much energy for this early in the morning.

“That’s my husband, Tom,” Lou explains, as Lux dives into the tent, already babbling. Lou leans in, like she’s telling Louis a secret. “He’s not too much of a morning person.”

“Me neither,” Louis admits. “I was just taking a piss when Lux found me, I just wanted—”

“Lou,” Tom calls, but she ignores it, watching Louis expectantly, so he continues.

“—to make sure she got back all right.”

“Aw, that’s sweet of you,” she says, bracelets jangling again when she reaches out to pat his arm. “Thank you.”

“It was no problem,” Louis says with a shrug. “She led most of the way here.” Lou smiles as Louis adds, “She’s a smart kid, I’m sure she would have found her way eventually.”

Her smile takes on a proud tone, her eyes fond as she looks over at the tent. “That’s my Lux. She knows better than to go too far.”

“Lou!” Tom calls again, more urgently, but she ignores it again, giving Louis a speculative look.

“I was just making breakfast,” she says, gesturing to a fire pit Louis hadn’t noticed. There's a large pot set up over a small flame. “Would you like to join us?”

Louis hums in consideration, scratching at the scruff on his chin. The offer is tempting. He’s not sure what kind of breakfast is waiting back at their own tent, if any. It might just be dry cereal. “What’re you making?”

“Oatmeal,” she shrugs. She walks over to give it a stir. Louis follows the warm scent of oats and brown sugar that wafts over. There’s a pang in his stomach that he decides to call hunger. “Lux can’t get enough of it.”

“Lou!” Tom nearly shouts, a cry for help, and she rolls her eyes.

“Better go save him,” she says with a jerk of her thumb, and Louis chuckles as she turns away, ducking her head into the tent. “Luxie, want to help me with the oatmeal?”

There’s a shriek and a grunt—Louis hopes Lux hasn’t just kicked Tom in the balls—before she comes roaring out of the tent. “Oatmeal!” she says loudly, running over to the pot; she stops just in front of it, peering in the best she can. Louis is tempted to reach out and pull her back—she’s awful close—but then she steps back, looking toward her mother as she comes up from behind, much more sedately. “Is it done yet?”

“Almost,” Lou says, flicking Lux’s ponytail. Lux pouts adorably, batting at her mother’s hand when she flicks her ponytail again. “Can you keep an eye on it while I get the bowls?” Lux nods dutifully, then turns back to the oatmeal, settling into a cross-legged position in front of it. She seems perfectly content just to watch it boil.

Lou hands the spoon to Louis. “Make sure it doesn’t get too sticky,” she warns. Louis opens his mouth to protest—he doesn’t like responsibility this early in the morning, for one thing, and he hasn’t even said yes yet, for another—but then his stomach growls. Loudly.

It’s loud enough that Lux looks over and giggles. “Someone’s  _hungry_!” she crows, rubbing her belly.

“I’ll grab you a bowl too,” Lou adds with a wink, then walks away, heading for the car.

Louis looks back and forth between Lux and Lou for a moment, before finally heaving a sigh and plopping down next to the fire.

“Do you like oatmeal?” Lux asks, before he’s even settled. “I  _love_  oatmeal,” she continues without waiting for a reply. “It makes my tummy all warm and happy!” She rubs her bare belly, pushing it out exaggeratedly.

Louis coughs. “Yeah?” He wishes he had a cigarette.

She nods eagerly. He soon realizes that Lux doesn’t need a partner to have a conversation. She babbles on about how much she loves oatmeal, and how much her friend Della likes oatmeal too, and how they especially like it when there’s strawberries in it. Louis is still too tired to do much more than nod and hum appropriately. Thankfully, Lou returns quickly, armed with three mismatched bowls and spoons.

Lux jumps to her feet as soon as she sees her mother. "Is it done is it done?"

Lou laughs as she trades Louis the dishes for the big spoon. “Almost, baby, almost.”

Lux pouts, but Lou ignores her. She gives the oatmeal another couple of stirs, then starts to pull up her skirt. Before Louis can wonder out loud what the hell she’s doing, Lou uses the fistfuls of fabric as a barrier between her and the pot as she takes it off the flames.

Clearly vibrating with excitement, Lux manages to keep a respectful distance away. Louis has never seen someone so excited for oatmeal in his life. “How often do you guys have oatmeal?” he asks.

Lou sets the pot down with a grunt. As Lux starts dancing around the pot, Lou gives him a dry look. “Almost every day.”

Lux is still cheering as Lou comes over to take the bowls from Louis; it goes on until Lou walks back up to her, putting a hand on her head. It’s like hitting the button on an alarm clock: Lux instantly goes quiet. She looks up at her mother with a sheepish grin. “Too early?”

Lou nods seriously, and Lux looks properly chagrined. She tucks her hands behind her back, looking down at her bare toes. Lou pats her daughter on the head, giving her a fond look. Louis snickers into his hand.

Lux brings Louis his oatmeal before sitting down next to him to eat her own, making happy noises as she digs in. Lux joins them, her skirt billowing out around her as she gracefully folds her legs beneath her on Lux’s other side.

It’s at that moment that Tom staggers out of the tent, a lit joint in his mouth. He’s tall and skinny, wearing just a pair of ratty jeans, and his daughter obviously inherited her wispy hair from him. His bare chest is covered in tattoos like Harry’s. He makes his way over to them with slow, lumbering movements, his eyes still mostly closed. With a great sigh, he settles on the ground next to Lou, leaning heavily against her. He looks barely conscious.

“Morning,” Lou says warmly, with a kiss to Tom’s forehead. He grunts, not opening his eyes. She sets her bowl in his lap, curling his hands around it gently, then takes the joint from his mouth. He makes a noise of dissent, but she doesn’t listen, taking a long, slow drag instead.

Tom doesn’t open his eyes as he mechanically shoves the spoon into his mouth. He chews slowly and sloppily. It reminds Louis of the cows on the farm next door to his Nan’s.

“Go on, eat,” Lou says, indicating Louis’ bowl with the joint. “It’s not poisoned, I promise.”

“It’s delicious!” Lux chimes in, her mouth full.

The first bite almost burns the roof of his mouth, but the taste is worth it. The oats are at the perfect texture, not too hard but also not complete mush in his mouth. The sweetness of the brown sugar, cut with a bite of cinnamon, all reminds him of the way his mother used to make her oatmeal. There’s another pang in his stomach that he decides is still just hunger.

He looks up, finding all three of them—even Tom—with their eyes on him, waiting for a verdict. “S’good,” he manages, mouth still full.

Lou nods, like that was the answer she’d been expecting, while Lux cheers, waving her messy spoon in the air. Tom just shuts his eyes and shovels another spoonful into his mouth.

*

By the time they’re all finished, the sun has risen far enough to turn the entire field golden. It’s still pretty quiet, but a few more people are pottering around their campsites now.

Louis tries to help clean up, but Lou won’t have it, smacking his hands away from the dishes cradled in her arms. “You’re our guest, can’t have you doing work,” she says with a wink. Then she nudges Tom—who’s at least keeping his eyes open now, even if he has yet to articulate a complete sentence—and dumps all the dishes into his lap. “Your turn!”

Tom grumbles, but doesn’t really argue, lumbering to his feet and trudging off.

“Thank you, again,” Louis says, rising to his feet as well. “It was really good.”

Lou waves a dismissive hand, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she looks into the pot. “You sure you don’t want more?”

Louis holds his hand up, the other patting at his belly. It feels a bit more rotund than it was twenty minutes ago. “No, two bowls was plenty, thanks.” He squints, just barely able to make out the van from here. “I should get back to my camp, actually.”

“Okay,” Lou says, hefting up the pot. “Luxie!” she calls. At the edge of the trees, Lux looks up from her playing. “Do you want to say goodbye to Louis?”

Dropping the sticks she was playing with, Lux immediately dashes over. “You’re leaving?” she shouts.

Chuckling, Louis squats down to her level again. “’Fraid so,” he says with a shrug. “I’ve gotta get back.”

“Say goodbye, Lux,” Lou says, nudging her in the back as she passes by. Lux watches her go before looking back at Louis. He tries not to be too affected by the way her lip wobbles.

“Hey, I’ll come back to visit you later, okay?” he offers, and her face turns hopeful.

“You will?”

“Of course.”

Her face breaks into a big grin. “Okay!” Then she flings herself forward, wrapping her small arms around Louis’ neck. He laughs, hugging her back. She’s so tiny, he thinks his arms could go around her twice. “Come back soon,” she says seriously, and Louis nods just as seriously.

“I will,” he promises. Then he stands back up, just as Lou walks up, sans pot and smiling warmly. “Thought I might come back around with my friends later. Once we’re all up and around.”

Lou sets a hand on Lux’s head. “Any time,” she says, nodding. “The more the merrier.”

“Right on.” He gives her something like a salute, then turns to head back to his camp. “See you later!”

“Bye, Louis!” Lux calls after him.

He turns again, walking backwards as he waves. “Bye, Lux!”

She grins at him, waving furiously. Her mother kneels down to her, murmuring something that makes Lux giggle. She waves one last time, then scampers off towards where Tom had disappeared. Lou follows, waving absently to Louis as she goes.

Louis turns around just in time to narrowly avoid stumbling over a tent stake.

By the time he’s picked his way back to the van, his full stomach and the couple of tokes he’d taken of Lou and Tom’s morning joint catch up to him. He yawns widely, rubbing at his full belly. He’s ready to pass out for a few more hours.

Then he stops, squinting against the morning sun. He's not sure that he’s seeing things right. Because if he  _is_  seeing things right, he sees Harry, standing on a fancy-looking blanket.

Completely naked.

Louis blinks once, twice, and—yep. That’s definitely Harry. He’s standing with his back to Louis, facing the sun with his hair tied back in some kind of bun. His hands are held up in front of him and the rest of his body standing very tall and still, his feet together. His silhouette is lined in gold.

And he’s definitely naked. His bare ass is. Right there.

Then, as Louis watches dumbly, Harry takes a deep breath in, stretching his arms above his head and bending a bit backwards. As he exhales, he bends forward, until his body is bent completely in half. His hands wrap around his ankles, nose nearly touching his knees. The change only makes his bare ass more obvious, the dark space between his legs hinting at his balls, his dick, his—

Louis looks away. He finds ample things to look at.

Harry continues to stretch into different poses, his muscles flexing beneath his skin, moving in some kind of rhythm aligned with his breathing. There’s a fluid grace to his movements, the kind that comes with a lot of practice. Even though he’s in continuous motion, there’s a strange stillness to him. He seems… focused. Centered.

He’s a damn fine specimen of the human form, too. Each pose puts different muscles to use, and they all look well-maintained and  _delicious._ It's a level of flexibility Louis could only dream of; he’s almost jealous. Louis is agile, but not  _limber_. He can barely touch his knees when he bends over sometimes.

When Harry raises his ass into the air again, all the muscles in his legs and in his back shifting smoothly with the movement, Louis shakes himself. He needs to get back to the tent. He needs to go back to sleep. He needs to—not stare at Harry’s bare ass like this anymore.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he says instead, not moving an inch.

Harry seems unperturbed by Louis’ question. For a moment Louis wonders if Harry heard him at all, because Harry doesn’t even open his eyes. Instead he breathes in deep and moves into a pose that involves far too much lunging for Louis’ taste. (Not that he minds what it does to Harry’s ass.)

As he exhales, lowering himself into a plank-like position, Harry finally replies. “Sun salutations.” Then he inhales, lifting his head up, back curving in, pelvis pressing into the blanket underneath him. Louis tries valiantly not to think of his pelvis pressing against other things. He fails.

That doesn’t answer Louis’ question, because he doesn’t know what ‘sun salutations’ are. But then, he’s not sure that was really his question anyway. “Why are you fucking  _naked_.”

“I like being naked,” Harry says simply, lifting his ass in the air again. Louis just... stares for another beat, watching as Harry moves into another lunge with the other leg. Louis is going to stop staring, he is. But how is he supposed to do that when Harry keeps doing things like  _that_?

“Do you also like presenting yourself in public?” He jerks into motion, coming around Harry’s side. Harry lowers himself back into the plank again. “Offending sensibilities with your naked form?” He lowers his voice to hiss, “There are  _children_  here, Harry.”

He can see the smirk on Harry’s face as Harry replies, “Am I offending  _your_  sensibilities, Louis?” He bends his back inward again, and from this new angle Louis can see the bulge of his arms and his chest. His tattoos are stark against the golden tones of his skin—the swallows swooping across his chest, the strange huge butterfly on his stomach, the patchwork of ink all down one arm.

Then Harry lifts his ass into the air  _again_.

“No,” Louis says belatedly, shuffling to a stop just a few steps away from the tent, “but you might give poor Liam a heart attack when he comes out and sees you like  _that_.”

“Liam was in the Army,” Harry points out. “He’s probably seen more naked guys than the rest of us combined.”

Louis snorts. “You’d be surprised,” slips out before he can catch himself. Much to Louis’ dismay, Harry’s  _holding_ the position this time, his ass just—there. Louis can’t stop staring.

“Oh?” Harry says, an interested note in his voice. “Have you seen a lot of naked men, Louis?”

Louis pauses. He can’t read the tone behind the question. Affinity for nudity aside, Harry has alluded to a certain… open-mindedness when it comes to sexuality. If the boy isn’t queer himself, he would probably be okay with Louis being queer. However, considering he’s known Harry for less than 24 hours, he goes with the safer reply. “Even one is too many.”

Harry doesn’t laugh, merely hums. The muscles in his back shift beautifully as he takes several deep breaths in and out. Louis licks his lips when the dents of Harry’s shoulder blades are thrown into sharp relief. Jesus Christ. Where did this kid come from?

Then Harry moves again, bringing his feet forward to meet his hands as he inhales. Louis just blinks, watching Harry fold his body completely in half again as he exhales, his nose pressing into his knees. He’s still watching as Harry inhales, lifting his upper body up and back in one smooth, controlled motion.

Louis can’t help the way his eyes skip down Harry’s body. Past the uneven sparrows, over the weird butterfly framed by two weird spots on his belly, straight down to the leaves lining Harry’s hips. It was inevitable that he would end up looking at Harry’s dick, too. The leaves point, like,  _straight at it._

Now, Louis has seen a lot of dick in his life. More than he’s even wanted to, really. He knows that dicks aren’t pretty. They’re… usually pretty ugly. But somehow, Harry’s dick manages to be just as good-looking as the rest of him. Even soft, it lays thick and plump along his thigh, nestled in a decent growth of brown hair that trails up to his belly button. It’s—big. It’s also…  _familiar._

“Harold,” Louis says sharply, and Harry opens his eyes for the first time. If he minds the fact that Louis is staring at his dick, he doesn’t show it.

“Yes?” He’s still standing with his hands held up in a prayer-like position in front of him.

“Monterey Fest. ’67.”

The dimple in Harry’s cheek pops, his eyes going a bit far away for a second. “Yeah?” he says dreamily. Then he comes back, clearing his throat and giving Louis a confused frown. “What about it?”

Louis’ heart is trying to jump into his throat. “You were there?”

“…Yes?” Harry says, his brow still furrowed in confusion. “So were you.” His expression clears, going carefully blank as he shrugs. “So were a lot of people.”

Shaking his head slowly, eyes still locked on Harry’s pretty, pretty dick, Louis asks, “Did you have a blue tent?”

Harry frowns thoughtfully, his head tilting as he looks up and to the left. “I think so?”

“Holy fuck.” Finally, he tears his eyes away from Harry’s dick, finding Harry looking back at him. He’s wearing an adorable confused frown that gives Louis the worst sense of déjà vu. “Holy  _fuck._ ”

Harry opens his mouth, but Louis doesn’t give him time to speak, instead dashing back inside the tent. He finds the three other boys almost exactly where he left them.

“Zayn,” Louis says in a fierce whisper, dropping down beside him to shake his shoulder. Zayn grumbles, batting at him absently. Louis shakes him again, harder. “ _Zayn_.”

It takes a bit more shaking, but finally Zayn opens his eyes, glaring up at Louis. “ _What_.”

“Zayn!” he says a bit too loudly. Liam grunts right next to them. Louis freezes, his heart rabbiting wildly, as Liam’s nose twitches. When Liam seems to remain asleep, Louis lets out the breath he’d been holding. He turns back to Zayn, who’s now glaring even more. Louis ignores it. “You remember Monterey Fest?”

Zayn gives Louis a look that says he thinks Louis is the dumbest person alive. “Vaguely.”

“Remember that night I was drunk off my ass?”

“Which one?”

Louis rolls his eyes, even if Zayn does have a point. Monterey Fest is a blur of drunkenness that Louis only half remembers. 1967 in general is kind of that way. “That night I went off with that guy.”

Zayn looks mildly less disgruntled, a bit more curious. “And you came back with a limp?”

“Yes!” He thwacks Zayn’s shoulder excitedly, ignoring the face Zayn makes as he leans in close to whisper, “I think I found him.”

Zayn sits up a bit at that, rubbing at his shoulder. “What?”

“ _I found him_ ,” Louis hisses. Zayn’s eyes go wide. Louis points outside the tent, where he’s sure Harry is still doing his sun salutations, whatever the fuck those are.  _Naked_.  _“It’s Harry.”_

Zayn’s mouth drops open.

“Right?!” Louis says, possibly too loud again—this time it’s Niall who grunts, his snores losing their rhythm. Louis watches with bated breath as Niall rolls over, throwing his arm across Liam’s waist and his leg over Liam’s. Liam twitches, but otherwise remains unconscious. Once Niall’s snoring again, Louis looks back at Zayn. He's looking between Louis and the door of the tent, still processing.

“How do you know?” he finally asks, looking back at Louis with his eyebrow raised. “And why  _now_. How did it take you a whole day to recognize him?”

“Well the fucker’s out there  _naked_  right now, doing his _sun salutations_ or whatever—”

“Harry’s doing yoga? Naked?” Zayn cranes his head, like he’ll see through the canvas of the tent. He even sits up a little more, like he’s thinking about going out to see properly. Louis understands, but he needs Zayn to focus on the matter at hand.

“Yes, naked, so I saw his dick. And I  _remember_  his dick.” He gives Zayn a serious look. “That’s the kind of dick you don’t forget.”

There’s a long, silent moment. Zayn looks distinctly unimpressed. Louis begs him to believe him with his eyes. Without managing to lose his indifferent pout, Zayn finally says, “I can’t believe you remember his dick but not his face.”

“You don’t forget a dick like that,” Louis repeats seriously. Zayn makes a ‘whatever you say’ gesture and face before starting to reach for his cigarettes. “Plus, he looked different back then. His hair was shorter. Not as many tattoos.”

“Thought you said you didn’t remember him?” Zayn says with narrowed eyes. His cigarette wobbles between his lips.

“Well I obviously remember him  _now_.” It’s still in bits and pieces, but things are starting to stick together. He remembers meeting someone, for sure. Remembers coming out of the toilet and him stumbling out from the one across the way at the same time. Remembers catching the guy before he face-planted in the dirt. A high-pitched giggle, a surprisingly deep “oops!” Wild hair, faraway eyes, dimples. He remembers laughing into his curls, the heavy weight of his arm around his waist as they staggered through the crowd.

He definitely remembers the sex. Most of it, at least. He has a  _very_  strong memory of that dick pushing into him, thick and unrelenting. Soft kisses pressed into Louis’ shoulder blades. Getting fucked, slow and deep, so fucking  _full_. The stick and pull of their sweaty skin against each other, the smacking sound of it. Hot breaths panted into his ear, his hair, his neck. A distinct impression of feeling like they were one entity. Like they were in sync from their dicks to their heartbeats, down to the fucking—soul or something. And then when he  _came_ … A long moment of pure fucking bliss, coming so hard it almost hurt, in the best possible way. He saw stars, or maybe God.

It was one of the best orgasms of his  _life_.

The next thing he remembers after that is waking up with his face stuck to someone’s stomach. He had no immediate recollection of where he was or who the naked stranger was. There was an ache in his ass, hinting at what they'd gotten up to the night before. The sun, shining weakly through the flap of the tent, highlighted the dick in front of his face perfectly.

It was a pretty dick. Big, but not monstrous. Louis wanted to put it in his mouth, maybe. But just as he was reaching for it, just to see how big it would be in his hand, a loud bout of laughter from outside the tent startled him.

And then, well. He panicked.

See, Louis never did this. Louis never, never did this. He never actually _sleeps_ with guys he has sex with. He’s only done that with three men, and two of them were in this tent. Staying the night meant risking a black eye the next morning. Guys changed when they were no longer drunk or in the dark. (He still couldn’t believe he’d almost touched the guy’s dick.)

With just enough forethought to put on his jeans before grabbing the rest of his clothes, he booked it. He didn’t even look at the guy’s face, much less bother getting his name. But then, by the time he got back to the van, he remembered enough to… somewhat regret his haste in leaving.

It’s haunted him ever since.

Zayn's the lucky one who got to listen to him moan about it for the next week. Or month. Maybe even the past two years. (It’s been a bit of a sore spot with Louis. His orgasms haven’t been the same since.)

“So, what, you wanna fuck him again?” Zayn asks, drawing Louis back to earth. He continues before Louis can get his brain back together enough to form a coherent reply. “Does  _he_  even remember  _you_?”

Louis hadn’t even thought about it, too caught up in the excitement of being able to put a face to the dick of his dreams. Harry would have mentioned it, if he’d recognized Louis. Wouldn’t he?

Zayn exhales smoke and continues, “Probably not, if it took you seeing his dick to remember him.” He smirks and wiggles his eyebrows. “Maybe you should show him your ass.”

Louis just might; that had been some of the best sex of his life. He wouldn’t mind another go at it, for sure. Harry might even be down for it, if Louis plays his cards right. The Harry he remembers had been lean, young, eager. Like a fruit just on the verge of ripening, or a colt that had almost reached full maturity. Harry  _now_  would be… even better. A full-grown stallion, a ripe, juicy peach. He thinks of Harry’s body, lit with gold, the way the muscles moved under his skin. He thinks of that kind of body underneath him, and bites his lip.

The considering look on his face makes Zayn laugh. He shakes his head, pulling one hand through his hair while he takes a drag. “Why am I even asking, of course you want to fuck him again.”

“Well c’mon, wouldn’t you want to fuck him?”

Zayn lifts an eyebrow in consideration. Louis wiggles his eyebrows, making humping motions at the air just for good measure. Slowly, against his will, a smile creeps across Zayn’s face. Louis nods encouragingly, exaggerating his movements. Zayn starts nodding too, a definite ‘yeah, I would fuck him.’ Louis crosses his eyes, sticking out his tongue, and Zayn cracks. His laugh is big enough to scrunch up his nose, his tongue pressed against the inside of his teeth.

He looks like a dork.

Louis preens, because one of his personal goals in life is to make Zayn look anything less than stunning. Zayn catches him at it. Quiets down to a knowing smirk. Louis rolls his eyes.

They land on Liam.

He’s still sleeping. His face is slack, his mouth parted. The corners are a bit down-turned, the sadness that lingers around Liam haunting him even in sleep. Louis frowns.

He isn’t blind. He’s seen the way Liam looks at Harry. (And Zayn, and Niall, and himself, but especially Harry, who’s new and shiny and charming and attractive and—Louis isn’t jealous  _at all.)_ Liam likes Harry, a lot, even if he doesn’t know what to do with those feelings yet. It’s not hard to imagine the hurt, shuttered expression Liam would try to hide when he found out Louis was trying to get with Harry. Just the idea of Liam’s puppy eyes kills any residual boner Louis may have had.

He wishes Liam weren’t so sad all the time. Since they plucked him out of Bum-Fuck-Nowhere last spring, he's _seemed_ happier. But Louis knows that Liam has some hang-ups about—a lot of things. There isn’t much Louis can do about some of it, he knows, but he wishes there  _was_.

He thinks about Harry again, naked and stunning in the sun. He wonders what Liam would have done if he’d been the one to come up and see Harry naked. He wouldn’t have fainted, but he probably would have turned pretty red. Maybe stuttered a bit.

Maybe if Liam could get the stick out of his ass long enough, he and Harry could have a real good time. Louis just wants Liam to be happy, above all things, because the kid never seems to be as happy as he should. Harry makes Liam happy. He bets Harry’s dick could, too.

They don’t know how long Harry’s sticking around though. He could be gone this time tomorrow morning. If they’re going to get together, soon, Liam might need a little… guidance. Harry, too.

Louis knows just how to guide them.

“What are you plotting now?” Zayn asks over his cigarette, his eyes suspicious. “I know that look on your face, it never leads to anything good.”

Louis puts on the most innocent face he can muster.

Zayn isn’t swayed. “Louis…”

“It’s nothing! Nothing. I just…” Zayn waits him out, puffing quietly on his cigarette. “Well, Liam likes Harry, right?”

Zayn’s eyebrow quirks. “Not what I was expecting, but continue.” He waves his hand. Smoke from his cigarette swirls around them.

“Well, now that we know Harry’s—” He gestures. Zayn raises an eyebrow. “We should get them together!”

For a moment, Zayn just stares at him. Then he bursts out laughing.

Louis is scandalized. He’s being  _brilliant_  here. “What? What’s wrong with that?”

“Are you serious? Liam is so—” He gestures to Liam, still sleeping next to them, and yeah, Louis gets it. “And Harry’s all—” He waves his arms as if it will encompass the weirdness that has been Harry so far. “There’s no way Liam would be down for it. He’s a good boy, Louis, you gotta treat him right.”

“Harry would treat him right,” Louis defends, not sure why he feels the need to. He was ready to kick Harry out of the van just yesterday, if only for Liam’s sake. But this is for Liam’s sake too, he supposes.

Zayn lifts an eyebrow. “Harry is a weird-ass motherfucker who’s gone tripping a few too many times,” he says, spinning a finger near his temple. “I’m surprised he hasn’t wandered off already.” Louis opens his mouth, but Zayn’s on a roll now. “Liam doesn’t deserve that. He’s not—” Zayn looks down at Liam, his eyes turning soft. “He’s not like us, Lou, he won’t try to fuck something just because he wants to. He likes all that romance shit, you know?”

“Romance is for squares,” Louis says automatically, because he feels like he has to say something. Zayn is making too much sense for his taste.

Zayn looks at him like he’s stupid again, taking a long drag of his cig. He has a point—Liam is probably the biggest square Louis knows.

“Well I don’t know!” Louis says, maybe a bit too loud, waving his arms around. “He’s just so—tightly wound, I thought… Harry might help.”

“He deserves someone who’s gonna stick around,” Zayn says pointedly. “Harry’s gonna get lost as soon as he finds something else new and shiny.”

Louis looks down at Liam again, considering him. “I dunno, it was always the repressed types that wanted to sleep with me just once. Never look me in the eye again.” He shrugs, looking back up at Zayn. “Liam might be like that. Then it’ll be good when Harry goes.”

Zayn makes a considering face as well, taking a drag, before he disagrees. “Liam’s not as repressed as you think. He knows he likes boys, he’s just never… been allowed to. He’s still just… new. To everything.”

“‘New?’ What’s that even supposed to mean?” Then he has a thought, one that makes him look down at Liam with a gasp, then back at Zayn. “Is Liam a  _virgin?”_

Zayn rolls his eyes. “No, he’s not a  _virgin_.” Louis heaves a sigh of relief. “But I think he’d be more likely to sleep with one of us before he sleeps with Harry.”

Liam _does_ seem to have a thing for them. He’s caught Liam looking before. Several times. Sometimes in very compromising positions.

Louis has an idea.

He grabs onto Zayn’s shoulder. “That’s it! That’s it, Zayn!” Zayn eyes him warily, puffing on his cigarette. “We could loosen him up for Harry!”

Zayn’s eyebrows go up to his hairline. “Excuse me?”

“Not—not like _that_ ,” (—but wouldn’t that be _something—_ ) “I mean—you said it yourself, right, he’d be more likely to sleep with one of us? So if  _we_  sleep with him, maybe we can convince him that sleeping with  _Harry_  wouldn’t be so bad.”

Zayn stares at him for a very long, judgmental moment. The smoke from his cigarette swirls attractively around his head as he pouts. Louis just looks back, unrepentant. This is a good idea; he knows it is.

Then Zayn opens his pretty, stupid mouth. “This is  _the_   _worst_  idea you’ve ever had. And you’ve almost gotten us in jail! More than once!”

“Aw, c’mon, this isn’t as bad as the time I wanted to catch a donkey in Mexico—”

“No, Louis! Liam will have a heart attack if we try to  _seduce_  him, are you fucking kidding me—”

“I bet you a month of laundry duty that he’ll sleep with me before you.”

Zayn’s eyes narrow, and Louis knows he’s got him on the line. Like Louis, Zayn can’t resist a challenge, especially when it’s in the form of a bet. “Three months,” he counters.

Louis lets the grin that was tugging at his mouth spread across his face. He takes Zayn’s hand and shakes it. “Deal.”

*

“We’re out of beer,” Niall announces as he comes out of the tent. There’s a freshly opened beer in his hand. It’s not quite noon. That’s his third.

They’ve all been up for a couple hours now. Louis had thought about taking them over to meet Lux and Lou, but. Zayn had lit a joint. Now here they are, sitting in the sun as it climbs higher and higher, not doing much of anything.

“We went through a whole case in one night?” Liam says, like this doesn’t happen every time they buy a case of beer. He pokes at the pile of ashes that was their fire with a stick. “How?”

Zayn is the only one to humor him. “There are five of us now.” He’s artfully sprawled on his back in the grass, a flower between his lips instead of a cigarette. He’s shirtless, his hands behind his head, even though he’s got the flannel Liam was wearing yesterday for a pillow. It’s hard not to stare. Louis appreciates the effort. “We’re bound to go through it faster.”

“Or because Niall drinks it like water,” Louis says around his cigarette. He catches Niall’s eye and winks. “Ya Paddy bastard.”

Niall shrugs, taking a long drink that must be nearly half the can. He wipes at his mouth with the hand holding the can as he says, “We need more beer though, is what I’m saying.”

“A beer run?” Liam makes a considering face, while Niall and Louis lock eyes.

“Not it!” Niall says first, putting a finger to his nose. “Nose goes!”

Louis jumps to follow suit, putting his finger to his nose too. He nearly gets himself in the eye with the cherry of his cig. “Nose goes!”

Liam looks bewildered but follows suit at Louis’ urging, putting his finger to his nose as well. When Louis looks over, Zayn’s already got his finger on his nose with a bored expression, which leaves…

“Harold!”

Harry looks up with wide eyes from where he’s sitting by the van, practicing on his guitar. He takes in everyone with their fingers on their noses with a confused expression. His fingers go still on the strings. “…Yes?” he says, peering over the large aviators perched on his nose.

“Thank you for volunteering!”

Harry’s broad forehead wrinkles even further. “For what?”

“For going to get us beer!” Niall cheers. He shakes his beer in Harry’s direction. “We’re out!”

“Oh!” He sets his guitar to the side and scrambles up to his feet. He runs his fingers through his hair, shaking out the curls. He’s wearing an easy grin. “Sure, yeah, I can go get beer.”

“Good lad,” Niall says, toasting him before taking another long drink. This one finishes the can. He belches loudly.

“Nice,” Louis salutes. “Ten points.” Niall toasts him with his empty can.

“Someone should go with him,” Liam says in an undertone, his eyes on Harry. He’s stretching, hands on his hips, looking around like he’s trying to gain his bearings. “Make sure he doesn’t get lost.”

“What an excellent suggestion!” Louis says. He claps his arm around Liam’s shoulders. “Thank you for volunteering!”

Liam sputters, but Louis is already leading him over to Harry. He watches their approach with a frog-like grin. Liam’s ears turn pink.

Louis smirks around his cig as he pushes Liam even closer. He stumbles, trying not to step on Harry’s bare feet with his shoes; Harry steadies him with a bright smile. Liam’s cheeks turn pink, too.

How fucking precious. Louis might die.

“Town’s that way.” Zayn points vaguely.

“Excellent!” Harry says, lumbering off in that direction. Liam gives them a helpless, pleading look, but it’s no use. Zayn’s eyes are already closed, back to lying in the grass. Niall ignores him for Harry’s guitar. Louis just makes a lewd gesture, which makes Liam roll his eyes.

“I hate all of you,” he hisses before starting after Harry.

“You love us!” Louis calls after him. Liam flips him the bird.

They make an interesting pair, the two of them. Liam in his boots, his sturdy jeans, his flannel, his buzz cut. Harry in his bellbottoms, a woman’s blouse, his hair drawn back from his face with a gauzy scarf. He still never put on shoes.

Louis watches them until they’re out of earshot. Then he turns to Niall. The blond has settled down in the grass next to Zayn. There’s a guitar in his lap and a joint in his mouth.

“Them two, eh?” he says, settling down on Niall’s other side, jabbing his thumb towards them. “Cute couple.” He nudges Niall’s elbow, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Still playing, Niall glances at their retreating backs. “I s’pose, yeah,” he says with a shrug.

That wasn’t quite the enthusiastic response Louis was hoping for. He chews on his words for a minute; he doesn’t really know which way to approach this with Niall. Most of the time, Niall likes the challenges Louis sets. But every so often, he thinks they’re stupid, and tells Louis so. Loudly. And without Zayn’s encouraging acceptance, Louis isn’t sure where this one is gonna fall.

Meanwhile, Niall continues playing, some up-tempo thing. Louis thinks it’s a repurposed Irish jig, but Niall swears it’s a complete original. Before he sold his guitar to help get them out of Kansas, he made sure they all knew the words.

Louis takes a deep drag of his cig, blowing the smoke away from Niall’s face. He opens his mouth. He closes it.

“What, Louis,” Niall asks, a laugh behind his voice. He’s still strumming, the quiet bit during the verses.

“I can feel you twitching over here,” Zayn says lazily.

Louis flips him off over Niall’s head. He turns back to Niall, looking him in the eye. “So Zayn and me got a bet going.”

“Oh?” He plays the first chord of the chorus, then drops his hand off the frets. “What’re the terms?” he asks, digging in his pocket. He pulls out a book of matches.

Louis watches him light the joint, then says, “If one of us can sleep with Liam, the other has to do laundry for three months.”

Niall bursts out laughing. It’s his loud, boisterous laugh, the big dumb cackle that Louis uses to find him when they lose him in the grocery store. Niall fumbles the joint when it falls out of his mouth, but he manages to save it, passing it off to Zayn. The ordeal doesn’t stop his laughter, because then he looks at Louis and starts all over again.

Thing is, Niall generally laughs at everything Louis does. Louis can’t tell if this is the “that’s fucking brilliant” laughter, or the “that’s the stupidest fucking idea” laughter. They are, unfortunately, alarmingly similar.

Finally, Niall speaks. “You guys have a bet? To sleep with _Liam?”_ This just sets him off again.

Louis is starting to get tired of it. It’s not _that_ funny. “What?” he says, not proud of how whiny he sounds. “It’s a good idea!”

“It’s a fucking terrible idea!” Niall giggles. He sets a bracing hand on Louis’ shoulder. “I can’t wait to see it though!”

This makes Zayn snort. He breathes out a cloud of smoke as he says, “I told him it was a bad idea, too.”

“Hey, you shook on it!” Louis says, pointing a finger at Zayn. Zayn waves him off like he’s shooing a fly and takes another hit. “It’s to get him to make a move on Harry, all right? One of us just has to warm him up to the idea.”

“You really think Liam needs _warming up?”_ Niall says, his eyebrow raised. He takes the joint back from Zayn. “What the hell have you been doing with him then?”

 _“Nothing,_ that’s the whole damn problem!” Louis wails. It’s loud enough that their neighbors stop playing their guitars and look over. Louis waves them off. They shrug before resuming.

Louis tosses the butt of his cig into the fire. When he looks back, Niall’s wearing a smug grin, smoke swirling around his head. “I mean, if you want to sleep with Liam so bad, why don’t you ask him? I’m sure he’d say yes.”

“I can’t just _ask him_ ,” Louis says, scandalized. “And besides, I’m just trying to get him open to the idea of—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Niall exhales, rolling his eyes. _“Harry.”_ He raises an eyebrow at Louis, taking another puff before passing the joint back to Zayn. “You sure you don’t just want to sleep with _him_?”

“He already did,” Zayn says, before Louis can even open his mouth. Niall’s mouth drops open in surprise, looking between Zayn and Louis.

“What? _When_?”

“Two years ago,” Zayn supplies helpfully. “Only just figured out it was Harry this morning.”

Niall inhales, but Louis cuts him off. “Yeah, yeah, it was the best fuck of my life, let’s move on to Liam please—”

“Wait wait wait, no, I wanna hear more about—”

 _“Liam,”_ Louis says pointedly, “needs some _help_ , okay?”

“And I’m _sure_ a cock up the arse is the help he needs,” Niall says with another roll of his eyes. He looks down at Zayn, jabbing his thumb at Louis as they pass the joint. “This guy, I’m tellin’ ya—”

“Like Liam would let anyone’s cock up his arse,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. He almost misses the doubting face Niall makes at Zayn. The grin Niall sends him when he knows he’s been caught makes Louis narrow his eyes. He opens his mouth, but Niall speaks first.

“So, you want me to make meself scarce tonight? That why you’re tellin’ me?” His knowing grins grows wider as he takes a drag. He waggles his eyebrows. “Maybe Harry’n’I could—”

“Don’t you dare!” Louis punches his shoulder. “Harry is for _Liam_ , okay?”

Niall scoffs. “They’re both grown men, Louis. They can fuck— or _not_ fuck— whoever they like.”

“Well. Yeah, but—”

Waving him off, Niall picks the guitar back up. “Sure, Louis, whatever you need.” He plucks out the riff that sounds like an Irish jig from his song, then grins up at Louis. “This should be a good time, yeah?”

*

“Okay… One, two, three, shoot!” Louis looks down, then curses. “Aw, c’mon, you’re cheating, fuck you—”

“You’ve got a tell,” Zayn says, his fist still clenched on the platform his other hand is making.

“I do not!” Louis pulls his fingers back in, clenching his fist to mirror Zayn’s rock. “Best out of seven?”

Niall suddenly stops playing Harry’s guitar. He laughs, pointing at something behind Louis.

“What?” Louis asks, already craning his head. He immediately spots Harry approaching, a whole gaggle of girls in tow. The girls are all very tall, very blonde, and very hot. Liam brings up the rear, looking just as incredulous as the rest of the boys and just as smitten as the girls.

“What the fuck?” Zayn whispers.

Louis nods absently in agreement. “I thought we sent them to get  _beer_.”

All they can do is watch as the group heads their way. Harry seems to have them all enthralled with some story, waving his arms around. He hits a point, and the girls’ laughter carries across the field to them.

“What the hell is this?” Louis calls as soon as they’re within earshot.

Harry turns to the boys. He’s got his aviators perched on his head now, his gauzy scarf nowhere to be found. He gives them a wide smile, spreading his arms wide. “These are our new friends!” One of the girls, with a short bob and a striped tee, titters to her friend. Her friend is taller than Harry.

Liam—who Louis can now see has a case of PBR under his arm—rolls his eyes. He jerks his thumb in the direction they just came from, which was not the direction they left. “They’re parked a few rows over. Thought it’d be cool if they came to hang.”

“We have beer,” one of them says, a blonde in a wide-brimmed hat and a blouse unbuttoned almost to her navel. There’s another case of PBR under her arm. The brunette next to her, wearing only a bikini top and red hot pants, hoists a case onto her hip as well, smacking loudly on a piece of gum.

Louis blinks. This hadn’t exactly been in his plans tonight. Beer? Yes. Girls? No.

“Well fuck me sideways,” Niall says, breaking the silence. One of the girls laughs. “Welcome, ladies!” He strums a loud, happy chord on the guitar with flourish, then points with his pick at the brunette with the beer. “ _You_  can sit by me!”

The girl smiles, and is the first to move, stepping neatly around the fire to sit by Niall. “Hi,” she says, to Niall and Niall only. “I’m Selena.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Niall offers his hand. When she places hers in it, he kisses her knuckles, looking up at her with a grin. “I’m Niall.”

Louis rolls his eyes; it’s a bit over the top, in his opinion. Selena eats it right up, laughing with her head thrown back. That seems to be the unspoken cue for the rest of the girls, and they descend. It’s a cloud of blonde hair and perfume and trilling laughter as they squeeze into the spots left around the fire.

As one of the girls—her blonde hair tied back, in a leotard and cut-off shorts—sits between Zayn and Liam, Zayn catches Louis’ eye, raises an eyebrow. Louis agrees: this had not been in the plan. But then the blonde with the beer comes to sit next to Louis, so he thinks he can make it work.

*

Louis has to piss like a racehorse.

He announces this to the group, but only a few of them acknowledge him. Cara, his new friend with the beer, wishes him good luck as he stands. He uses the other brunette’s head to help himself up—Kendall, he thinks her name is—and she flips him off. He cackles. Then he ruffles her hair for good measure. She thwacks his leg, but he ignores it, trying to remember which way the trees are in the dark.

“You,” he says, pointing at Liam. He looks up with wide eyes. “Where are the trees?”

Looking a bit confused, Liam points off behind the van. “That way?”

There’s a beer in Liam’s hand, but Louis thinks it might still be the same one he’s had since they got back. He narrows his eyes. “How many beers have you had?”

Liam gives him a confused look, then looks down at the ground where the empties have been collecting. “Um… Three?”

Louis points his finger again, while Liam sits very still, like he’s under some kind of inspection. It’s not the answer he’d been hoping for, but it’s still… “Acceptable,” he deems. Liam laughs, but it’s his uncomfortable one, when he doesn’t know what else to do. Louis lets him off the hook, saluting him before meandering off in the direction he’d pointed.

Louis is… frustrated. Sure, they’ve passed around enough beers and joints by now for him to feel pleasantly loose and relaxed. Sure, there’s been laughter and good times had by all. Sure, he likes making new friends.

But he hasn’t had a goddamn minute alone with Liam since they got back. Zayn’s…  _everything_  has been enough to capture the attention of not only Liam, but that girl, Gigi. He doesn’t like the way that other girl is looking at Liam, either. Kylie, Karlie, Kayley? Whatever. He doesn’t like her _or_ Gigi. Or Zayn, for that matter. It was going to be hard enough to seduce Liam with just Zayn as his competition. Even with Zayn a bit distracted, Louis has a snowball’s chance in hell against him _and_ a pretty hot blonde.

This is all just—very unfair. He’s going to be stuck doing laundry for three months. It’s gonna suck.

He’s only slightly mollified by the way Harry only seems to have eyes for Taylor. Although that might be because she’s sticking so close he can’t look anywhere else. She keeps laughing at things Harry says (that aren’t very funny) and touching his arm. He keeps paying attention. Who knows, maybe Louis was wrong about Harry. Maybe he doesn’t like Liam at all.

Louis wrinkles his nose at himself for the thought. Like someone could _not_ like Liam.

He pisses, then staggers dejectedly back through the maze of cars. He might as well just concede the night to Zayn. Or even the girl. All the same, right? The whole point was to get Liam laid—it didn’t _have_ to be Louis. Even if Louis really _really_ wanted to be the one doing it.

He stops at the van to grab another beer from the stash he put in the cooler. When he turns around, he pulls up short. The circle around their fire shrank considerably while he was away. The six girls are gone, along with Harry and Niall.

Zayn and Liam have closed rank in their absence. Liam hasn’t really moved, still sitting there cross-legged, but Zayn is sprawled in the grass next to him. Liam’s beer sits forgotten at his hip, while Zayn puffs pensively on a joint. They’re talking about something, too quiet for Louis to pick up.

Louis narrows his eyes. He knows that look on Zayn’s face. Knows it intimately. Zayn has used that look on enough people (including Louis) that he could recognize it a mile away.

Zayn, above anyone else, was aware of the way he looked. The boy couldn’t pass a mirror without looking in it, for one. But he also knew how he looked to everyone _else_ , and wasn’t afraid to use it to his advantage. (Louis wasn’t afraid to use it to his advantage either. It was why they made such good partners in crime.) Zayn knew how to look at you just right and that was it. The rest of the world was gone. It was nothing but Zayn’s ridiculous beauty. It all looked very nonchalant and unintentional, but Louis was one of the few who knew that Zayn’s casual sprawl was precisely calculated for maximum seduction.

Louis usually appreciates that look. But considering how little attention he’s gotten from Liam because of that look, he hates it right now.

They don’t seem to notice that Louis is back, which allows him the perfect opportunity to interrupt.

“Where’d everyone fuck off to?” he asks loudly as he plops himself between them, much to Zayn’s disgruntlement. Liam merely shuffles over to give Louis more room.

Zayn doesn’t reply, his eyes narrow as he brings his joint up for another puff. Louis sticks his tongue out as Liam offers, “They went off with those girls,” his mouth twisting a little. “Niall said not to wait up.”

Louis smirks, reaching over and plucking the joint out of Zayn’s mouth. Zayn watches his every movement. “Good for them.” He takes a long drag, eyes locked with Zayn. “More room for us, eh?”

Liam shrugs and takes a swig of his beer. “I guess so.”

His carefully disinterested tone makes Louis finally look at him. Louis frowns, not liking the wrinkle on Liam’s forehead or the sad twist of his mouth. “Aw, don’t be jealous that they’re getting some and not you.” He reaches over to twist Liam’s nipple, but Liam bats it away without even looking. When Louis goes for it again, Liam deflects it again, grabbing Louis’ hand to stop him from trying again. Louis pouts, but Liam frowns.

“I’m not jealous of them,” he says before taking another swig of beer, and Louis raises his eyebrows.

“You’re not? What’s with all this then?” He brings his hand up to Liam’s face, squeezing his cheeks together a few times. “Are you jealous of the _girls_?”

“No!” Liam says quickly. _Too_ quickly. He pushes Louis’ hand from his face. “Of course not. I—no.”

Louis waggles his eyebrows, leaning into Liam’s space. “You sure about that?”

“I just thought they’d want to hang out for a bit longer, that’s all,” Liam says, still sounding much too defensive.

Louis turns to Zayn conspiratorially. “He’s jealous of the girls,” he mock-whispers.

“I’m not jealous!” Liam says, so loud that their neighbors look over. He waves at them sheepishly before turning to hiss at Louis. “I’m not jealous.”

“Of course not,” Louis says magnanimously, patting at Liam’s leg before taking a swig of his own beer. “Why would you be? You’re with the prettiest people here.”

Zayn sniggers next to him, while Liam rolls his eyes, taking another drink of his beer. “Sure, Lou.”

With a dramatic sigh, Louis leans into Zayn. “D’you hear that, Zayn? Liam doesn’t think I’m pretty.”

“I think you’re pretty,” Zayn placates, offering Louis the joint again.

Louis takes it gladly. “Damn straight.”

The fire crackles. Their fellow festival attendees continue to make noise, but the three of them are quiet. Then Liam pipes up again. “You don’t think they’ll get lost, do you? On their way back.”

Louis rolls his eyes, letting out a dramatic groan as he passes the joint back to Zayn. “They’re big boys, Liam. I think they can handle it.”

“There’s a lot of people here,” Liam begins doubtfully, “and I think Harry took something earlier—”

“They’ll be fine,” Zayn interrupts. He stretches across Louis to offer Liam the joint. “You just need to relax, yeah?”

Liam eyes the joint for a moment, then takes it with a sigh. “Yeah, I know. I’m just…”

“Jealous,” Louis prompts, laughing when Liam glares.

“It’ll be nice to have the tent to ourselves,” Zayn says, eyeing the tent thoughtfully. Liam inhales, then passes off quickly to Louis. “Been a bit cramped with five, yeah?”

Louis shrugs, taking a puff of the joint when Zayn waves it off. “A bit.”

Zayn isn’t paying attention to him. He’s got that look again, his eyes heavy on Liam as he says, “Think I’ll turn in early.” He makes sure both of them are watching as he starts to get up. “Take advantage of all that space.” Once standing, he raises his arms above his head and stretches. The move puts all the wiry muscles in his chest and stomach on display. His jeans slip lower on his skinny hips, exposing more of the dark trail of hair on his belly. Louis’ mouth goes dry.

Normally, he’d be up and after Zayn in a heartbeat. Zayn looks—so good in the flickering light of the fire. But he knows this show isn’t for him. If he doesn’t step it up a little, he’s gonna lose this damn bet. He’s already lost himself the tent.

“Think I’m gonna stay out a bit longer,” he says, patting Liam’s thigh. He lets his fingers linger over the inseam of his jeans, pleased with the way it makes Liam gasp. Louis offers his can of beer as an excuse. “Finish this.”

Zayn shrugs, unbothered, and turns his hooded gaze on Liam. “You staying up, too?”

Liam, who is now pointedly not looking at either of them, nods. Zayn lifts an eyebrow, then smirks. He gives a small nod and bids them both goodnight, retreating into the tent with little fanfare.

After the flap shuts behind him, Liam and Louis sit in silence for a few tense moments, sipping at their beers. Then Liam clears his throat. “You know, you can, uh—” He gestures towards the tent. “Go ahead.” Louis raises an eyebrow, taking another drink to hide his smirk as Liam continues to stumble over himself. “I’ll just—stay out here. Finish my beer.” As he shakes the can in question, the small amount inside swishes pathetically.

Louis arches a judgmental eyebrow. Even in the dim firelight, he can see Liam’s face turning red. He knows that Liam is just trying to be nice, give Louis and Zayn space without actually saying why they’d need it. It’s just amusing to watch Liam stumble over himself even when there’s no one around to police their behavior.

He decides to take pity on him, and slings his arm around Liam’s stiff shoulder. “And leave you all by your lonesome?” He shakes his own can in Liam’s direction. It makes a satisfying, full sloshing noise. “’Sides, I’ve got more left than you anyway.”

“Oh,” Liam says flatly. “Um. Okay.”

“Well don’t sound too excited.” Louis rolls his eyes, jostling Liam a bit but not letting go of his shoulders.

“No no no, it’s cool, I just thought that you guys’d want to—” He catches himself from saying something, eyes going wide. He looks away. “Um. The space. For, uh—”

Louis narrows his eyes, wondering if Liam’s drunk enough to actually say it out loud. He’s one of the bravest guys Louis knows, but unless he’s completely off his ass, talking about sex (of any kind, much less _gay_ sex) still makes him a bit skittish. “For what?”

“Um. Sleeping?” Liam says quickly, squirming to escape Louis’ hold.

Louis holds on tight. “I dunno.” He shrugs, his grip pulling Liam into a shrug too. “I’m not really that tired.” He jostles Liam again, trying to encourage his stiff shoulders to relax. “Sit out here with me while I finish my beer then, yeah?”

Liam takes a drink from his own. Then he nods decisively. “Yeah. Okay.”

Neither of them speak for a few minutes after that. Louis keeps his arm wrapped loosely around Liam’s shoulders, leaning heavily against him. Liam’s started to get used to Louis pushing himself into his space, making Liam take his weight. Tonight doesn’t seem to be the case. The longer Louis lingers, the more Liam tenses up. His eyes keep darting between the tent, the fire, and Louis’ beer.

“You seem a bit tense, Liam,” he begins.

Liam’s wary eyes snap up to his.

“What’s got you so wound up, hm?” he says, working an encouraging hand into the muscle of Liam’s shoulder. It’s hard as a rock.

“Nothing,” Liam says, too quickly again, his eyes darting to the tent. He seems to remember his beer, bringing it up to his lips. He drains whatever he had left.

“I don’t believe you,” Louis mock-whispers. He takes his own drink, then finally releases Liam. His shoulders relax immediately, but he doesn’t go far.

While Liam stares at the fire, Louis watches him. His brows are furrowed, staring into the fire like it’s gonna give him the secrets of the universe. A muscle in his jaw keeps twitching. He’s fiddling with his empty can, turning it round and round in his hands. “I bet I can guess what it is.”

Liam scoffs, but it finally makes him look over. “Oh yeah?”

Smirking, Louis lifts his beer. “The rest of this beer says that I can name it.”

Liam’s lips purse the way they do when he’s trying not to laugh. “And if you can? What do I give you?” He shakes his can at Louis. “I’m empty.”

Slowly, Louis draws his eyes from the can and up Liam’s body. He’s always appreciated Liam’s body. The lines of it. The strength in it. His hands. His arms. His shoulders. Louis licks his lips.

When he finds Liam’s eyes, he finds them locked on his own mouth. He smirks. “A kiss.”

It’s a bold request. But it’s what he wants. If Liam freaks out, maybe he can blame it on the beer.

Liam’s eyes widen in surprise. Rather than dart a few looks around, as Louis thought he might, Liam’s eyes narrow. Something like a smirk steals across his face. He raises his chin. “You’re on.”

Both surprised and delighted, Louis grins. Then he leans back, examining Liam head to toe again. He looks a bit more relaxed now. Confident in his belief that Louis doesn’t know him well enough for this.

He pushes back in close, setting his chin on Liam’s shoulder. Liam looks at him sideways. If he turned his head any further their noses would brush. “You’re horny,” Louis says.

Liam takes in a sharp breath, but he doesn’t speak. He looks back at the fire instead.

“Understandable,” Louis presses on. “Those girls were hot.” Liam’s mouth twitches. The smallest expression of displeasure. Louis changes tactics. He settles his hand on Liam’s thigh in a show of finding his balance. His bare chest presses against Liam’s arm. “It’s been a while, yeah?”

As far as Louis knows, he didn’t have a girlfriend when they met. There hasn’t been anyone since they got on the road, either—not for lack of trying. Mostly on Louis’ part. (He tries _so hard_ to get Liam laid.) Louis doesn’t think Liam’s gotten laid by anyone in at least a year, if not longer. Louis doesn’t know how Liam hasn’t shot anyone yet.

“But you, my friend,” he says, poking Liam’s arm, “are just wound _too tight_.” He reaches for Liam’s nipple. He bats it away without batting an eye. Louis scoffs, leaning back to take a drink of his beer. “You wouldn’t go after something if it was dangling in front of your nose!”

Louis would know. He has dangled it _plenty_ of times in front of Liam. Liam just _never fucking bites._

“So, you were probably hoping I would go in there and…” He pauses dramatically. Liam’s eyes flick to his. In that moment, he can see that Liam knows he’s been trapped.

See, just the other night Louis had caught Liam’s eyes on him and Zayn. They were in the back of the van. Niall was sleeping. Liam was (supposed to be) driving.

Louis had honestly just crawled back there for a smoke and a bit of a cuddle. It helped him fall asleep, especially when they were on the road. At some point there was kissing, and that turned into… more. They’d tried to be quiet, honest. (Louis is always louder than he means to be.)

When Louis had looked up front to check on Liam, they caught eyes in the rearview. Liam froze. Louis smirked. Then Zayn clutched his shoulder in that way that meant he was about to come, his breathing going high and tight in Louis’ ear. He lost track of Liam after that.

Not long after he and Zayn were finished, Liam pulled off the road. Muttering something about needing the bathroom, he scrambled out of the van. They had been in the middle of a field.

Louis doesn’t think Liam went to piss.

“…sleep,” he finishes. Liam’s eye twitches. He adds, “With Zayn,” to see him do it again. He leans back in again, keeping his voice low. “Maybe you’ll wait us out. Take care of business while we’re sleeping right next to you.” He’s done it before. (Louis wasn’t sleeping.) Liam swallows, but says nothing. “Or maybe you won’t be able to wait. Do it right there.” Her jerks his head towards the van. Liam’s hand clenches.

See, that hadn’t been the first time Louis has caught Liam looking.

The first few times had been an accident, on everyone’s parts. Louis and Zayn (sometimes Niall) were prone to doing… whatever they wanted. Whenever they wanted. Once it had been a rushed hand job in a back alley. The next had been a cramped blow job in the shower. Sometimes it was in the van while the other boys were in the hotel room. Sometimes it was right there in the hotel room while the other boys slept on the other bed.

After the first couple of times, Louis doesn’t think it was much of an accident. On anyone’s parts.

“But, now that I’ve elected to stay out here, your plans have been, tragically, ruined.” Louis leans back again, taking another drink of his beer with a satisfied smirk. “And that, my friend, is why you’re so tense.” He punctuates the last few words with pokes to Liam’s bicep.

Liam scoffs. It’s not exactly the reaction Louis was going for. Then he starts laughing, and that’s _really_ not the reaction Louis was going for. “What. What?” Louis demands. He doesn’t like not being in on the joke.

Liam finally looks away from the fire, turning to grin at Louis. “That’s it? You think I’m just horny? That I’m just waiting for you and Zayn to—”

He cuts himself off, catching Louis’ eyes. Louis grins. Is this it? Is this the moment where they actually acknowledge out loud what’s been happening?

Unfortunately, Liam doesn’t finish that thought. Instead, he narrows his eyes. Then he swipes the beer out of Louis’ hand. As Louis watches, shocked, Liam drinks. The low light plays shadows across his face, but Louis can still make out the hollows of Liam’s cheeks. The angle of his jaw. The way his throat bobs as he swallows.

Liam smacks his lips after he pulls the can away, making a satisfied sound. He peers into the can, as if he’s going to find anything down there, then tosses it to the side. It makes an empty clinking noise when it hits the grass.

He turns back to Louis with a smug grin. Then he turns, planting his arm on the other side of Louis’, pushing into his space. Louis can smell the beer on his breath. The fire glints in his eyes. His lips look very wet and kissable as they form the words, “Looks like you were wrong.”

Louis is—surprised. Stunned. Dazed. That has to be why his heart is racing. It’s not because Liam is so fucking close. Louis opens his mouth—or maybe it was already that way—but he can’t get anything out.

Liam makes a ‘tsk’ing noise out of the corner of his mouth. “Too bad,” he says, his voice low. It has a bit of that country drawl it does when he’s drunk or tired. “Was lookin’ forward to that kiss.”

Louis can do nothing but gape at him. Where did this man come from, and where has Liam been hiding him? They could have been having _way_ more fun.

Liam laughs then, a self-satisfied chuckle that makes Louis either want to punch him or mount him. Liam moves closer, barely keeping an inch of space between them. “Wanna know why I was so tense?”

“Yeah.” Is that raspy thing Louis’ voice? He clears his throat. “Yes.”

Liam quirks an eyebrow, biting his lip around his smirk. “Was thinkin’ ‘bout how you make too many bets, Louis.” He leans back. Louis swears he doesn’t immediately miss his heat, his weight, his presence.

He watches as Liam stands, then stretches. His shirt rides up. His pants sink lower. Louis can see where the dark patch of his pubic hair begins. “Think I’ll turn in now,” Liam is saying. He yawns, stretching again. “That last beer really hit me.” Then Liam tucks his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans. The weight of his hands makes his pants sag lower. Louis should stop staring at that bit of skin, probably. But he doesn’t. Not until Liam heads for the tent. “Good night, Louis,” he says, and then he’s gone.

Then his words actually register. Louis finally snaps back to life. “Now wait just a fucking minute—” he says, scrambling to find something to put the fire out. He manages to find half a pot of water; the flames go out with a wet sizzle.

“Hey! _Hey!_ ” he says, blundering his way through the dark for the tent. He nearly trips over one of the posts, then finds the canvas. He follows it to the flaps in the middle and barrels through. “What in the fresh hell is going on?”

He can’t see much. It’s all dark shadows, grey on top of black. He can hear some rustling off to the left, so he peers through the dark in that general direction. “Liam? Zayn?”

“Here, Lou,” Zayn says. There’s the familiar click of his lighter. A bright flame sparks to life a bit to the left of where Louis was looking. It’s gives Zayn’s face an eerie—yet somehow still attractive—glow.

It doesn’t light much, but Louis can also see Liam’s boot. He pushes himself into the tent, sprawling into the space on Liam’s other side. “What the fuck’d you mean by that?” he says, blindly swinging a fist in Liam’s direction. It hits him in the armpit.

Liam grunts, and then his fist catches Louis in the ribs. “The fuck you think I mean?”

Flopping on his back, Louis groans exaggeratedly. Before he can speak, Zayn cuts in. “He knows, Louis.” His breath makes the flame flicker dangerously. “About the bet.”

Louis freezes. He starts spluttering, trying to buy himself time, or an excuse, or something, any way to twist this around, but then—

“I heard you guys this morning,” Liam says. “I _know_ , Louis.”

The air in the tent is silent for a long moment. The light from Zayn’s flame dances all over, but Louis can’t make out Liam’s face. He might have gone a little too far on this one. Unable to take it anymore, he asks. “Are you mad?”

Liam punches him again.

He gets Louis near the stomach this time. It genuinely hurts, too. It makes Louis wheeze a little. “Of course I’m fucking mad! You didn’t have to fucking—” He punches Louis _again_ , this time right in the gut. Louis groans, rolling away from him a bit, wheezing. He…kinda deserves this. “If you fucking wanted—” He punches Louis in his back, making Louis groan again. “You fucking—could have just fucking—” He gets Louis one last time, right in the kidney. He doesn’t use all his strength though, so he can’t be _that_ mad. “—asked!”

“I’m sorry!” Louis finally gets out, when Liam goes for his kidney again. He blindly reaches out, managing to catch Liam’s fist. Liam makes to pull away, so Louis holds tighter. “I’m sorry, man, hey, c’mon, I’m sorry—”

“You’re such a—” He struggles to pull his hand away. “Such a fucking—” He uses his other hand to punch Louis one last time. _“Jerk!”_

Groaning, Louis rolls away from him, letting go of his hand. “I was just trying to help!”

He doesn’t get punched again, but Liam snaps, “You were just trying to get off.”

“I was trying to get _you_ off!” Louis throws his hands up in exasperation. “Excuse the fuck out of me!”

“What makes you think I need your help to get off!”

Louis scoffs. “Watching me and Zayn all the time is just a coincidence, then?”

There’s a moment of telling silence. Louis can’t see it, but he knows Liam’s face is turning red. “That—that has nothing to do with this—”

“It has everything to do with it!” His voice is much louder than he intended, especially in the small space of the tent.

“Hey,” Zayn starts, “he doesn’t owe you shit—”

“If you want it so bad, you could have just _asked_ ,” Louis sneers.

“Lou,” Zayn says sharply. Liam stops him.

“No, he’s—” Liam stops, but they all know what he was going to say. Louis makes a _you see?_ face even though Zayn probably can’t see it. There’s some rustling, and the vague shape of Liam moves further away from Louis. “I don’t—” He sighs. “I don’t know how this is supposed to go,” Liam says, his voice a bit tight, like he’s confiding something terrible.

Louis lets the statement hang for a moment. He glances over at Zayn, but his eyes are on Liam. “Just ask,” Louis urges. He reaches out, his hand landing on Liam’s arm. To Louis’ surprise, Liam doesn’t tense up or move away. Instead, he turns his arm until his hand can grab back. “Just ask.”

Zayn shuts his lighter with a snick, plunging the tent back into total darkness. “It’s okay, Li,” he murmurs, sounding like he’s moving closer to Liam. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to—”

“I want to,” Liam says quickly. “God fucking help me.”

Zayn breathes out a chuckle. “Then just ask.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Louis holds his breath, waiting for Liam’s next move. Finally, Liam breathes out, “Kiss me?”

Louis is sure Zayn’s wearing the same smirk he is. He pushes himself up, closer, but Zayn beats him to Liam’s mouth. The sound of them kissing is hot. So is the way Liam clutches at his arm. It’s what keeps him there, listening to them kiss, instead of wondering if he should leave.

Finally, they break apart. Liam pants. Zayn says, “See? Not so bad.”

There’s a nervous laugh on Liam’s part, and then the sound of more kissing. There’s some rustling, bodies moving. His hand clutches tighter at Louis’ arm, pulling Louis until he has to move closer. Then Liam _moans_. It’s quiet, high, caught in his throat, but it’s undeniably _something._

“That’s it,” Louis murmurs. Liam’s nails bite into the soft skin of Louis’ underarm. “Feels good, yeah?”

The kissing noises stop. Liam pants out, “Yeah.” There’s some more squirming and rustling, Liam breathing harshly into the quiet. Then, stronger, “ _Yeah.”_

“Good,” Zayn hums. “That’s good, Liam. Just relax.” Liam makes a whining noise, prompting Zayn to shush him. With his mouth.

Louis uses this distraction to let go of Liam’s arm. He sidles up close, propping himself up with one elbow. Liam shudders at the touch of Louis’ other hand to his thigh, pressing into it as Louis moves his hand up. He goes to cup Liam’s dick, but finds Zayn’s hand already there. Louis flicks at the back of his hand, sticking his tongue out. Before Zayn can retaliate, Louis keeps moving his hand up, pushing Liam’s shirt up as he goes. He explores the way Liam’s stomach contracts minutely under his touch. The way he arches into Louis when he gets close to his nipples.

“Lou,” Liam says, reaching up to clutch at Louis’ wrist, not stopping him, just—holding on. “Louis—”

Louis shushes him, pressing even closer. “Don’t mind me,” he whispers. “As you were.”

Zayn lets out a quiet chuckle. Liam breathes in like he’s going to speak again, but then Zayn moves. There’s the unmistakable sound of a belt clinking, and then Liam moans. The sound cuts off, Liam trying to hold back, but that just won’t do. What good is sex if you’re not enjoying yourself?

“Hey, no, c’mon,” Louis says, spreading his fingers out, his palm over Liam’s heart. “S’just us. Don’t have to be quiet.”

Liam draws in a shaky breath, his chest rising under Louis’ hand, while he grips tighter at Louis’ wrist. “Lou,” he says again, sounding a bit lost.

“Just wanna make you feel good,” Louis assures him. “You trust us to do that, Li?”

Then Zayn does another thing. This one makes Liam cry out, loud in the still air of the tent. Louis grins.

“That’s it,” he coaxes. Liam lets out another noise. It’s almost a whimper. “Got the magic touch, don’t he?” Louis murmurs conspiratorially, leaning close to where he guesses Liam’s ear is. He feels more than sees Liam’s frantic nod in response, Louis’ nose brushing against Liam’s cheek. “He done that twisty thing yet?”

“What twisty—oh _fuck_ ,” Liam groans. Louis doesn’t have to look to know Zayn’s wearing a self-satisfied smirk that mirrors his own. His face is even closer to Liam’s now, his nose pressed against Liam’s cheek, his mouth grazing Liam’s beard. Liam’s face twitches, but he doesn’t try to pull away.

Then Zayn decides to speak again. Louis couldn’t have thought of a better way to get Liam riled up himself. “I’ve been told I’m better with my mouth.” He moves, and from the loud, wet sucking sound that follows, Louis can only assume Zayn’s mouth is attached to Liam’s neck.

“Fuck,” Liam chokes out, letting go of Louis’ wrist. His hand bats out wildly as he rocks his hips towards Zayn, pushing into the grip of his hand. Louis presses himself even closer, slinging his leg around Liam’s. His face is mashed into Liam’s cheek, their mouths as close as can be without actually touching. Liam’s beard scratches as Louis’ lips.

When Zayn does another thing that Louis can’t see, Liam moans. It’s loud, right in his ear. He shudders, mindlessly grinding into Liam’s hip. Liam’s breathing goes a bit tighter. “It’s so good, Li,” he says, words slurred against Liam’s cheek. He grinds his dick into Liam’s hip again, just because it feels good. “Better than you’ve imagined.”

Liam chuckles, a low, breathless sound that makes Louis’ dick twitch. “I dunno,” he pants. His hot breath on Louis’ ear makes Louis shiver. “I’ve imagined a lot.”

For a moment, Louis is stunned that Liam is coherent enough to put together a sentence, much less anything resembling a joke. Then Liam’s hand finally comes to rest—right on Louis’ ass. His fingers dig into the meat of it, urging Louis into another grind against his hip. Louis is equal parts delighted and offended that Liam was hiding this kind of initiative.

“Yeah?” he encourages. He swipes his thumb over Liam’s nipple, smirking at the small noise Liam lets out. “You been imagining this?” Liam nods frantically, his body beginning to squirm, hips shifting restlessly. He lets out a pained noise as Louis presses, “Imagining this while you’re getting yourself off, listening to us?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Liam says, voice high and breathless. Louis isn’t sure if he’s responding or if it’s because Zayn has sped up his hand.

“How many times was it, Liam?” he asks, feeling a bit breathless himself. It’s one thing to have suspicions; it’s another thing entirely to hear Liam actually _talk_ about it.

“Lots,” Liam says quickly, shaking his head absently. His grips on Louis’ ass loosens, his hand dragging over Louis’ hip. “Couldn’t—couldn’t help it.”

“Yeah?” Louis encourages, rocking into Liam again.

Liam nods, his shaky exhale almost a laugh. “You’re not—hnh—not exactly quiet, Lou.”

“Hey now,” Louis warns without much heat. He pulls back, dancing his fingers over to tweak Liam’s nipple. It startles him, pulling a sharp gasp from his mouth.

Zayn pulls off of Liam’s neck long enough to laugh. “He’s got a point.”

“Shush,” Louis says, aiming in the dark to flick Zayn’s nose; he ends up getting him in the cheek. “This isn’t about me, this is about Liam.”

“Is it now?” Zayn chuckles. “Couldn’t tell, with my hand on his dick and all.”

Liam makes a choking sound, while Louis rolls his eyes at the darkness. “ _Yes_. Liam here,” he tweaks his nipples again, just because he likes the way it makes Liam arch up, “was just about to tell us what he imagined.”

“I—I was?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, bringing his face back down close to Liam’s. “You were gonna tell us exactly what you imagined every time you were lying in the dark, listening while we got each other off, just waiting for us to finish so you could take care of yourself.” Liam’s breathing gets more labored the more Louis talks. He chokes a little when Louis continues, “You thought you were quiet about it, but we could hear you, hear you jacking off to us—”

“I wanna fuck your mouth,” Liam blurts. Louis can’t see his face, but he thinks Liam’s expression must mirror his own surprised one. The rest of Liam’s body has gone still as well. Louis freezes for all of two seconds before he groans, rubbing himself against Liam’s hip. He wonders if Liam meant to say that, or if he’d just said the first thing that came to mind to get Louis to stop talking.

“Which one?” Zayn asks, taking over for Louis while he rubs shamelessly against Liam. He does something with his hand that makes Liam groan again. “Me or Louis?” he presses, when all Liam gives them is more harsh breathing.

“Doesn’t matter,” he finally gasps, shaking his head. “Thought—thought about both.” His mouth brushes across Louis’, and Louis jerks back on instinct, used to keeping his distance. He’s surprised by the hurt sound Liam makes. He flings his arm up, awkward batting at Louis’ should. “Lou,” he says, sounding desperate. _“Loui_ s.”

“Kiss him,” Zayn says, his voice close. He can feel Zayn’s breath, hot on his cheek. “He wants you to.”

He kisses Zayn instead. He just—needs it, the familiarity of Zayn’s mouth moving against his. There’s comfort in the slick heat inside. It’s just all a bit overwhelming, how into this Liam is, even though he should have expected it. Liam is an all or nothing kind of guy.

Eventually Zayn pulls back. Everything else comes rushing back in: The rhythmic sound of Zayn’s hand on Liam. Liam’s body squirming beneath them. Liam’s pants ring hot and harsh in his ears. Louis’ heart drums a rapid beat in his chest.

“Please,” Liam says, and well. Louis has never been able to resist when a pretty boy says please. He ducks down, his nose grazing Liam’s cheek. Liam turns into the touch, his mouth seeking.

“Yeah, okay,” Louis says, and brings their mouths together.

Liam makes a muffled sound, arching up towards Louis. As he is with most things, Liam is inexperienced yet enthusiastic, pushing his tongue into Louis’ mouth with little finesse. Louis slows him down, bringing his hand up to cup Liam’s jaw and guide him along. Liam’s mouth is hot and wet, tasting like beer and smoke and a bit of the curry Zayn made. Louis greedily swallows all the beautiful noises he makes.

“Wish I could fucking see,” Zayn grumbles, sounding like he’s talking to himself. His voice is further away now, near Liam’s stomach. Louis is too busy kissing Liam to reply.

Then Liam’s hand snakes into Louis’ jeans.

At the first tentative touch of Liam’s hand, Louis gasps, breaking his mouth away from Liam’s. For a moment, he wonders if it’s the first time Liam has ever touched another guy’s dick. Then Liam’s hand wraps around him, firm, with a confidence Louis hadn’t been expecting; he can feel Liam’s smirk against his lips. The rhythm Liam starts up is quick and efficient. It sends Louis hurtling towards the edge before he’s ready.

“Fuck, fuck, wait—” he says, bringing his hand down over Liam’s, slowing down his strokes. It’s a bit awkward with their left hands, but he manages to guide Liam well enough. “There we go,” he says, as Liam’s hand finds a slow but tight rhythm, “easy does it.” He can tell Liam wants to hurry it up, get it over and done with, but Louis doesn’t let him, keeping their hands at an easy pace.

“Zayn,” Liam says suddenly, one of his legs kicking out. “What’re you—oh _god.”_ He cuts off with a high whine. Then Louis can hear the wet sucking sound. He smirks.

“Good, isn’t it?” he says, keeping his own hand tight as Liam’s hand goes slack around Louis’ dick. Liam lets out another whine. His hips thrust sporadically, like he’s trying to keep them down but just can’t help himself. “Like you imagined?”

“Better,” Liam admits, a bit strangled. Louis grins, ducking down to nose along Liam’s cheek. Liam’s taking deep, ragged breaths. He won’t stop making noise either, gasping and groaning and moaning and cursing. His whole body writhes, rhythm-less, like he can’t decide between pushing into the wet heat of Zayn’s mouth or against the solid line of Louis’ body.

“Yeah, just like that,” Louis encourages. He’s doing most of the work on his own dick, but he doesn’t really mind. He mostly just wishes it wasn’t pitch black. Liam’s noises are pitching higher and higher, and Louis wants to see his _face_.  “You gonna come for us, Li?” Liam nods frantically. Louis ducks down, kissing Liam just as he starts letting out loud, high keening noises, his hips churning.

Suddenly Liam goes silent, his entire body locking up. Zayn pulls off with an obscene, wet noise. Then Liam groans, his hips jerking as he comes.

“Fuck,” Louis hisses, pulling back, wishing he could _see_. Next time they do this, it’s not going to be in the fucking dark.

Then Liam surprises him again, turning back to Louis before he’s even finished coming. He bites at Louis’ jaw, his hand speeding up around Louis’ dick. Louis feels it like a punch to the gut, can feel his balls drawing up as Liam’s teeth scrape over the stubble on his jaw. He lets go of Liam’s hand, reaching up to clench a fistful of Liam’s shirt instead. “Fuck fuck fuck,” he grits out, his own body writhing now, rocking into Liam’s hand, “fuck, Liam—”

“Go on, make him come,” Zayn encourages. Zayn’s hand lands on his shoulder, his presence looming over them.

“Zayn,” Louis breathes, letting go of Liam’s shirt to blindly feel out for him. His touch lands on Zayn’s chest. He lets his hand trail up, feeling Zayn’s collarbone, his neck, his jaw. He groans when he gets to Zayn’s mouth. The plump wetness of his lips. A thick, sticky wetness on his cheek that can’t be anything other than Liam’s come. “Fuck,” he says again. He wraps his hand around Zayn’s neck, pulling him down to kiss him.

Their mouths come together harshly, teeth clacking together. Louis doesn’t care, too busy moaning and licking at the taste of Liam inside Zayn’s mouth. Zayn lets him for a little bit, before using his hand on Louis’ shoulder to push him back and away from him. Liam follows the movement, his mouth still on whatever part of Louis he can reach, hand still working Louis over.

Louis tangles his fingers into the long hair at the nape of Zayn’s neck. When Zayn doesn’t come closer, he tugs, demanding. Zayn lets him pull him back down, lets Louis move his face so he can lick at the come on Zayn’s cheek, chasing after the salty bitterness of it with a groan. He feels Zayn’s returning smirk under his lips.

For a moment, he’s hyper-aware of everything: Zayn’s beard scratching against his, Liam’s teeth on his skin. The taste of Liam in his mouth. The harsh breathing inside the tent. The sweat that’s gathered in the small of his back. Liam’s callused hand on his dick, Zayn’s soft hand on his shoulder. He’s hurtling towards the edge, needing just—that little bit—more—

“Come on, Lou,” Liam says, desperate, almost impatient, his voice thick and mouth against Louis’ neck.

Louis whines out another “ _Fuck_ ,” his entire body pulled taut, like a string about to snap.

Then Liam bites down, sucking at the skin in a way that will bruise, and that’s fucking _it_.

His voice goes embarrassingly high-pitched when he comes, a loud keen that bursts out of him as he clenches his eyes shut. Sparks go off behind his eyes. His world narrows down to nothing but Liam still jerking him, hard and quick as he pulses, his come slicking the way. Liam jerks him until there’s nothing left and then some, until he’s oversensitive and hissing. His body twitches, spent, overwhelmed. He feels both heavy and weightless.

It’s a damn good orgasm. Top five, at least.

The first thing he hears when he comes back to his senses is Zayn cursing. “Shit,” he says, panting over them. Then there’s a choked off, _“Liam.”_

Louis is still a bit dazed, so he’s not entirely sure what’s happening. He just feels Zayn’s body rocking above him, Liam’s hand still on his softening dick. He’s got the fingers of one hand twisted into Zayn’s hair. The other hand is rubbing at the soft, short buzz at the base of Liam’s neck.

Then Zayn whines. Louis knows it—Zayn is about to come. He opens his eyes on instinct, but can’t see anything. He just has to imagine the furrow of Zayn’s brow, the pout of his mouth. The way his face opens, groaning as he comes, his body jerking over them. Louis thinks he might feel a few drops of Zayn’s come land on his stomach.

When Zayn stops moving, the air in the tent is suspended for a moment, their ragged breaths the only sound. It makes Louis’ ears ring.

Then, with an exhausted groan, Zayn flops down on top of both of them. Louis groans exaggeratedly, while Liam just grunts uncomfortably, the air shoved out of all of them at once.

There’s another long moment. They breathe together for a beat. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Louis breaks it with an announcement. “I have the best ideas.”

Zayn snorts immediately. “Sure, Lou,” he placates, patting Louis’ shoulder carelessly. Louis doesn’t have the energy to pretend to be offended, even when Liam lets out a weak chuckle that turns into a wheezy laugh. Then Zayn lifts himself up with a groan, shifting back over to Liam’s other side again. Louis makes a face at the way their skin peels apart.

After that, it’s the quiet business of disentangling themselves from one another. Louis curls his lip as he becomes aware of the mess inside his jeans. He unbuttons and shoves them away as soon as he’s free of Zayn’s weight. He swipes at his crotch with his dirty jeans, hoping he gets the worst of it. He winces at his dick’s sensitivity before tossing them to the side.

He can hear Zayn and Liam shuffling around as well, the sounds of clothes being removed. Belts clinking. Zippers being undone. He feels Liam sit up to take his shirt off. Liam shimmies out of his jeans before falling back with a heavy sigh.

Louis tries not to think too hard about all of Liam’s naked skin right next to him. It’s hard, because he can literally feel the heat of Liam’s skin. He can feel Liam’s arm brush his when he raises it above his head. He can feel the hairs on Liam’s leg when it brushes against his. Liam’s hardly ever this naked around them, unless he’s about to swim or bathe. He’s never been this relaxed about anyone else’s nudity, either. This feels like a turning point, even more so than the sex they just had. Louis doesn’t want to fuck it up.

But Louis also just wants to _touch_. He likes touching, likes grounding himself in the feel of another person’s skin as he comes down. He and Zayn always end up tangled together. They’ve been living in each other’s pockets too long to not be that comfortable around each other.

Zayn flops down again then, sprawling half over Liam. He apparently does not have the same hang-ups Louis does. His toes end up digging into Louis’ knee, his hand on Louis’ arm. “Lou,” he mumbles. He strokes his fingers over the thin skin on the inside of Louis’ arm. It’s uncannily in time with Louis’ heartbeat. “C’mere,” he slurs, tugging a bit.

Louis turns into it, into the heat of Liam’s side, the pull of Zayn’s hand. He ends up slinging his leg back over Liam’s, reaching his arm across Liam’s chest to rest his hand on Zayn’s back. Zayn’s foot hooks around Louis’ knee, while his hand ends up on Louis’ chest, covering his heart.

He’s half-expecting Liam to be stiff as a board, but his broad body is loose and languid beneath them. When Liam brings his arm down to curl around Louis’ shoulders, Louis finds himself relaxing from a tension he didn’t even know he was carrying. He nuzzles his head into Liam’s meaty shoulder with a loud, content sigh.

“Comfy?” Liam rumbles. His fingers stroke a mindless rhythm out on Louis’ shoulder.

“Could use a softer pillow, yeah?”

Liam pinches him. Louis cries out, ready to pinch him back, but Zayn stops him, putting his hand over Louis’ face. “Shhh,” he says, dragging his hand down Louis’ face. “Sleep.”

“Yeah,” Liam says in a mock-stern tone. He jostles Louis’ shoulder, enough to make him whine about it. (It doesn’t take much, honestly.) Liam’s trying not to laugh as he says, “ _Sleep_.”

“Fuck off,” Louis groans, pushing his whole body into Liam’s. He wants to sound grumpy about it, but he’s still smiling a bit like a lunatic, so. At least he’s not giggling like Liam.

He jostles Louis again. Louis retaliates by digging his fingers into Liam’s side. This just makes him giggle _again_. Louis, on the other hand, doesn’t _giggle_. He _snickers_.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Zayn says, rearing up. “You are _children_.” He forces Louis’ head back down to Liam’s chest. Louis can’t see, but he assumes Liam is getting similar treatment. _“Sleep_.”

Zayn sets his head back down with a huff. Louis manages to hold himself together for all of a second before he laughs. That sets Liam off, and soon enough, both of them are hooting with laughter, both of their bodies shaking.

“I give up.” Zayn pushes away again, moving to turn his back on them. _Leaving_ them.

“Nonononono—” Louis reaches for him, but Zayn is determined. “He-ey,” he whines, pawing at Zayn’s back. “Come ba-ack.”

“No.” He tries to sound short, but Louis can hear the grin in his voice. “Good night.”

“Aw, Zayn,” Liam says, letting go of Louis so he can turn to Zayn. “Come back.” Louis squawks in protest. Liam pays him no mind.

Zayn doesn’t say no to _Liam_. He lets Liam curl around his back; Liam murmurs something Louis doesn’t hear. Louis should have known. Zayn loves being little spoon.


	3. August 15, 1969

**August 15, 1969  
Bethel, NY**

_“There’s something happening here... What it is ain’t exactly clear…”_

*****

There are fingers tripping across Niall’s chest. They tug at the hair there, tweak his nipple; he groans, batting out blindly. Louis needs to give him just—five more minutes.

Then there’s laughter. It’s a high, unfamiliar, feminine trill, and Niall frowns in confusion. He opens his eyes to a curtain of brown hair, the ends almost tickling his nose. He blinks, wrinkles his nose, blows at the hair in his face, and there’s more laughter before the hair moves, a girl’s face coming into focus.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” she says warmly, smiling down at him. Niall blinks. She’s naked, in a completely unselfconscious way that Niall immediately likes. (It doesn’t hurt that her body’s gorgeous.) He smiles a little, his hand bumping its way down her side, knuckles skimming over soft skin.

“Selena,” he remembers, and her smile grows wider, her round cheeks making her eyes crinkle at the corners. Of course he remembers. She’s a laugh, this one, with a cunt sweeter than sunshine. A good fucking time.

She leans back in to press a kiss to his forehead. Niall tries to kiss her back, just barely catching her chin, and she laughs as she pulls back, reaching up to push her long hair away from her face.

Niall grins and reaches for her, pulls her down to him so he can kiss her properly. She squeaks in surprise, but relaxes into his grasp, bringing her hand up to run through his hair. He makes a noise of agreement, pulling her even tighter to him, and she giggles against his mouth before pulling away. She doesn’t make it far with Niall’s arms wrapped around her. “Good morning,” she laughs.

Her body feels as good as it looks, all soft and warm, and he squeezes her even tighter, nuzzling his nose into her neck. “Morning.” He kisses the curve of her neck, the bump of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts pressed against him. “How you doing?”

She hums a bit, her fingers stroking against his scalp in a pleasant way. “Good. You?”

“Just fucking peachy.” When she giggles again, he dips his hand low, just brushing the swell of her ass. She hums again, a more appreciative noise; he lets his lips drag against her skin while he gropes lower.

“Ah ah ah,” she says, stopping his hand before he can get down into the crease of her thighs. He pouts, flopping back with a sigh, but she just gives him a grin and a pat on the cheek. “I’ve gotta get up. Check on Taylor.”

Niall winces at the mention of her name. The last he’d seen of her, she was naked, crying, and covered in dirt. Taylor had certainly been—something else, last night. Selena catches the look, but it just makes her laugh. She pats his cheek once more, then sits up, moving off him.

He lays back with a satisfied smirk to watch her. She sits primly on her knees, facing him as she plaits her hair back. He likes the way her breasts sway, the way her hips curve, the way her knees dimple. She looks good. Niall would _definitely_ like to fuck her again.

“Hey,” she says sharply. Niall snaps his eyes up to hers, biting his lip, arching an eyebrow. She holds her stern look for half a second before crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue. He laughs. She does too, turning away to find her clothes.

“Do you have to?” he asks, reaching out to touch her knee. He’d rather she stay. He’d rather she let him fuck her again.

She finishes pulling on a white t-shirt and sighs. Tying a knot in it at her waist, she gives Niall an exasperated look. “You don’t make it easy on a girl, do you?”

He gives her his most charming grin. She groans, rolling her eyes, and swoops down to smack another kiss to his forehead. Then she reaches over him, digging around for something; he’d pay more attention to what she’s doing, but there’s a mole on her thigh that he wants to touch instead.

“Stop,” she hisses with a giggle, playfully smacking his hand away as she sits back. She looks like she’s trying to hold back her smile. Then she drops whatever she’d grabbed, right on Niall’s face. “Here, you get dressed too, huh?”

Niall sputters a bit, batting away what turns out to be his jeans. He looks up at her with another pout, but she’s not looking, rummaging around on the other side of the tent. With a defeated sigh, Niall pulls his pants on.

By the time he finds his shirt and pulls it on, she’s gotten herself back into her little red shorts and is waiting with an expectant look. She’s so cute that Niall has to reach for her, draw her back down, kiss her while she’s giggling.

She settles into his lap, legs spreading over his waist, giggles dying as she lets him kiss her. He runs his hands up her thighs, squeezing, pulling her closer, and she pulls away from his mouth to groan. She rocks into him, in a way that makes Niall gasp, his dick fattening up a little. He can feel the humid heat of her through their layers of clothes, and he bites his lip, squeezing her hips, rocking up into her before he can help himself.

“Fuck,” she says suddenly, not in a good way, and pushes herself up, bracing her hands on Niall’s chest. It settles more of her weight right on his dick, making him want to grind up against it, but Niall freezes, giving her a confused look. She gives him a pained one back as she says, “I _have_ to go check on Taylor.”

Niall grimaces, groans, and flops back dramatically. She isn’t swayed, even though she does smile a little. “No, listen, I already feel bad enough that I wasn’t there for her last night.” Niall resists the urge to roll his eyes, because this is important to her. More important than getting laid again, at least. “I mean, you’re cute, but…”

He laughs. “It’s fine, I get it!” Her face turns a bit hopeful. He waves his hand, shooing away her cute face and cute body before he tries kissing her again. “Go ah…aid your sisters in need, or whatever.”

She smiles brightly again, kissing his cheek this time before getting up. Niall sighs, tucking his hands behind his head, and watches her leave with a smile.

*

Niall is _bored_.

He doesn’t have a watch, but he’s sure Selena went to check on Taylor over an hour ago. He ventured out of the tent after about fifteen minutes, but all he found was Gigi, sitting by the fire with a percolator at her hip. She’s not very entertaining; every time he tries to make conversation, she just gives him baleful looks over her cup that remind him strongly of Zayn.

He misses Zayn, and Louis, and Liam; Zayn’s constant smirking and smoking, Louis’ and Liam’s constant squabbling, the general rowdy feeling of being around other guys. The girls’ camp is much too quiet. He can hear every slurp of Gigi’s coffee, every crackle and snap of the fire. Every goddamn sob coming from that big tent set up next to the one he came out of.

Finally, he gets up, tired of waiting, not even sure what he’s waiting for anymore. He’s done listening to whoever that is crying, that’s for sure. He’s grabbing Harry and they’re gonna head back to camp. Say ‘ta’ to the girls on their way out.

He can feel Gigi’s eyes on him as he makes his way over to the biggest tent, where he’s assuming he’ll find Selena and Harry, even if that does mean interrupting a crying person. He decides to do it quick, like ripping off a plaster. “Hey,” he says, rapping on the tarp with his knuckles as he ducks inside, “let’s get going, mate—”

He pulls up short as his brain catches up with what he’s seeing. There’s a lot of naked skin in front of him, curves and lines and bodies, four girls piled on top of each other and none of them wearing much. Thing is, he can’t spot Harry’s dumb tattoos in the mix, nor his crazy hair. Niall coughs, not liking all of them looking at him. “Um. Where’s Harry?”

If possible, the tension in the space grows tighter, the girls’ eyes sliding from Niall to Taylor like it’s a tennis match.

She takes a moment, sniffling a bit, but then she pushes herself up, rising out of the tangle of bodies like a monster from the sea. Her strong makeup from yesterday is gone, her eyes red, lips pale, cheeks blotchy. She’s definitely the one who’s been crying this whole time. Still, the look she’s giving Niall makes his balls want to crawl up inside his body. “Why don’t you ask _Kendall?”_ She maintains her fierce look for precisely three seconds before crumpling again, letting out a sob.

Niall raises his eyebrows. Jesus. Okay then.

Karlie coos, pulling Taylor back into her embrace, while Cara rolls her eyes, patting Taylor’s arm as she takes a drink from her flask. She offers it to Taylor, but she doesn’t notice, too busy crying into Karlie’s shoulder. Then he finally catches eyes with Selena, who’s on top of the whole pile. She pulls a face, funny enough to make Niall bite his lip to hide his smile. Then she pulls an apologetic one, inclining her head towards Taylor in a _gotta take care of this_ fashion.

He nods. “I’ll just…” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, slowly backing out of the tent. Taylor’s muffled sobs follow his escape.

They are getting the fuck out of here. This is way more emotions than he wants to deal with, especially before noon.

When he turns around, Gigi’s judgmental eyes are on him. He avoids eye contact, eyes only on the last tent in the girls’ camp. It’s small, like the one he and Selena shared last night, and the same green color. He raps on the tarp again, but this time he waits before sticking his head in. There’s a bit of rustling, and then Kendall croaks out, “Come in.”

Niall takes a deep breath, preparing himself for what he might see in there, and then ducks inside.

He’s met with the sight of—well, Harry, mostly. There’s his wild hair and all of his weird tattoos, nearly every inch of him laid bare, limbs sprawled over half the tent. He’s also fast asleep, his mouth wide open, a soft snore in the back of his throat, his arm thrown over his eyes. Kendall’s curled up with her back to Harry, using his other arm as a pillow. She looks barely awake, blinking up at Niall over the blanket pulled over her shoulders.

Niall clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh. Hi. I’m uh—” He gestures to Harry. “Here for him.”

This makes Kendall raise an eyebrow, but then all she does is roll back over, taking more of the blankets with her; she graciously leaves Harry the tiniest scrap to keep his last shred of decency. Niall takes this as permission to enter, so he ducks inside. He says Harry’s name, a bit louder, but that barely makes him twitch.

Niall sighs. He’s already tired of crouching over, but going to his knees proves to be more difficult than he thought. There’s just so much _skin_ , everywhere he tries to settle. He finally gives up, shoving Harry’s leg over with his bum knee to make space for himself. “ _Harry_.”

Harry grumbles. That makes Kendall giggle, peeking over her shoulder at them. Niall quirks an eyebrow at her, smirking, before turning back to Harry. “Wakey wakey…” he sings, tickling his fingers across Harry’s bare chest, dangerously close to his armpit. Harry wrinkles his nose, his hand twitching, but doesn’t wake up. Kendall giggles again, turning herself over proper to watch the show.

“Harry…” he sings, shaking his head at all of Harry’s tattoos, pinching at one of his extra nipples, “it’s time to get up…” Harry grumbles a bit, bringing his hand from his eyes to bat him away. Niall just pinches Harry’s other extra nipple, which makes Harry grumble some more. With a wink at Kendall, who giggles again, Niall breaks out into song, drumming on Harry’s chest. “ _Wake up, little Harry, wake up, little Harry—”_

While Kendall laughs, Harry groans loudly, smacking Niall’s hands away. “I’m up, I’m up.” His brow is furrowed in a funny, grumpy expression, but he hasn’t even opened his eyes. That just _won’t do_.

“No, up, up, up!” Niall encourages, pulling at his shoulders. Kendall is laughing so hard she rolls on her side again, the blanket pulling away to expose Harry’s dick—right there, for Niall or God or anyone to look at. At least it’s a nice one. Maybe not as life-changing as Louis seems to think, but. Nice.

Looking away before he’s caught looking, Niall keeps his eyes strictly above the waist as Harry groans even more, makes no moves to cover himself, and finally opens his eyes. _“Okay,”_ he says, pushing himself up and glaring at Niall like a grumpy toddler. “I’m up!”

Niall laughs, slinging his arm around Harry’s neck, ruffling his hair a bit. “Good! Let’s get going.”

“Bwuh?” Harry says around a yawn, rubbing at one of his eyes. He blinks at Niall, eyes hooded and soft. Now instead of a grumpy toddler he looks like a sleepy one. “Go where?”

“Back to camp! The lads’re waiting!”

Harry just gives him a confused look, prompting Niall to laugh and ruffle Harry’s hair again. “Get up.” He pinches Harry’s naked thigh. “Get dressed.”

Yawning again, Harry nods, waving Niall off. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“You better.” Niall pinches his leg again, and this time Harry jerks a bit, glaring up at him. Niall just laughs again, getting to his feet. “You’ve got five minutes.”

Harry groans again, flopping back down. Kendall giggles again; Niall had forgotten she was there for a second. But then he points at her, giving her a stern look. “Make sure he comes ‘round, yeah?”

“You got it,” she drawls, making an ‘OK’ sign with her fingers. He doesn’t believe her.

“You better!” he says, narrowing his eyes and shaking his finger. She arches a brow at him, and he arches one back. “Hey!” He gestures to the other tents, where he’s sure Taylor is still crying for no good reason. “There’s a crying lady over there, and I’m pretty sure it’s at least partly your fault!”

Kendall just throws her head back and laughs; then she gives Harry a smile, like they’ve got some private joke. Harry doesn’t seem to get it, blinking at her in confusion. Niall rolls his eyes, flipping them off as he ducks out of the tent.

Then he ducks right back in. “She’s coming!”

Kendall pulls away from Harry, their mouths making a wet sound as they detach. Niall makes a face. He was gone for like, two seconds. Harry looks over dazedly, while Kendall just raises a bored eyebrow. “Who?”

“Taylor!” he hisses, throwing the closest pair of jeans he sees at Harry’s head. Well, it might’ve been Taylor. _Someone_ came out of that tent, and to be honest, he doesn’t want to stick around to find out who.

“Oh my god,” Kendall says tonelessly. She rolls her eyes, but starts looking for her clothes all the same. “I can _not_ believe her…”

Harry doesn’t say anything, pulling on the jeans Niall threw at him with a quiet determination. They’re a much skinnier cut than the bellbottoms he’d been wearing yesterday, but Harry doesn’t seem to notice or care. Getting himself tucked away and the pants buttoned seems to take eons, but once it’s done, Niall hauls Harry to his feet. Harry lets himself be manhandled surprisingly easily, only resisting to grab his shirt before Niall hauls him out of the tent.

“Hey!” a girl’s voice says. Harry looks back, but Niall doesn’t, pulling Harry along until Harry finally catches his own stride, falling into step next to Niall. He doesn’t have shoes, and Niall is trying to remember if he was even wearing any the night before.

“Hey!” the voice says again.

“Go, go, go—” Niall mutters, picking up his pace; Harry lengthens his stride, somehow managing to keep the same easy lope but struggling to get his arms in the sleeves of his shirt.

“Niall!”

He pulls up short, Harry taking a few long strides before turning to look back as well.

It’s Selena, jogging up to Niall with a smile. He raises an eyebrow as she comes closer, and she holds out a piece of paper, seven digits written out in thick black pencil, by way of explanation. “If you’re ever in the Nashville area?”

Niall grins, takes the paper, and slips it into his pocket. “Of course, love,” he says, although they’ve never been in the Nashville area, and doesn’t think they will be any time soon. But you never know, do you?

He bends down to kiss her cheek, and she wraps her arms around his neck, squeezing him tightly. He can’t help but do the same, pressing their bodies close one more time. “Be seeing you.”

“Niall.” Harry is suddenly at Niall’s elbow, his shirt finally on but still unbuttoned; he jerks his head, looking over Selena’s shoulder. Niall looks, Selena turning to look too, and finds Taylor immediately, standing by the big tent. She has a blanket draped over her shoulders like a cape, her eyes narrowed in their direction. Karlie’s arm is wrapped around her waist, and Niall can’t tell if it’s for support or if it’s to hold her back.

“Gotta go, love,” Niall says, kissing her cheek again as he detangles himself from her arms, Harry tugging at the back of his shirt.

“Bye!” Selena calls after them, blowing a kiss. Walking backwards, Niall waves; Harry waves too, but Niall doesn’t really know what for. He’d bet Harry’s wearing a big, shit-eating grin, though.

Whatever his expression, it makes Taylor rolls her eyes. “Fuck you!” she calls, giving them the middle finger for good measure.

Niall laughs, finally letting Harry turn him around. Harry gives him a mad looking grin, and then he’s suddenly off, sprinting away faster than Niall thought he could move.

“You bastard!” Niall shouts after him, laughing, giving chase.

Harry cackles, a bright thing that carries back to Niall, all the while dodging tents and people, neatly leaping over obstacles. It’s when he turns back to look at Niall, his smile a bit gloating, that he missteps, tripping over absolutely nothing but his own big feet.

Luckily, this means Niall gets the pleasure of watching Harry’s face as he falls: it happens almost in slow motion, his arms flailing, legs twisting, mouth and eyes wide, letting out a high-pitched yelp. Niall starts cackling before Harry even hits the ground. He looks like a fucking cartoon!

“That was the funniest thing I’ve ever fucking seen!” he crows as he draws up to where Harry’s sprawled on his back, making a surprised face at the sky. When he catches sight of Niall laughing, though, he cracks up too, a dumb high-pitched hyena laugh. That only makes Niall laugh harder, so hard he snorts. They both pause, blinking at each other in surprise, and then crack up again, Niall laughing himself to his knees, Harry clutching at his stomach as he rolls into a patch of tall grass.

“You fuckin’ nutter!” Niall manages to get out once his laughter dies a bit, smacking Harry’s shoulder. Harry makes no attempt to retaliate; instead he closes his eyes, tilting his face towards the sun, a content cat sunning itself. They sit, much longer than necessary, Niall happy to look at him: he’s quite a picture, there in his blue floral shirt in the tall brown grass, smiling in the sunshine.

Suddenly, wildly, Niall knows this is one of _those_ moments. Those ones that stick with you, even if it’s small, because it’s profound in some way. In fifty years, when he’s half-deaf, grey, bald, nursing a pint of Guinness in some seedy bar, Niall knows he’ll be regaling all the young lads with his stories of Woodstock, of this day, of Harry, smiling in the sunshine.

“We should get going,” Niall says eventually, when his knee starts aching. Harry squints one eye open, still smiling, as Niall struggles to his feet.

“Why? It’s beautiful here,” he says, closing his eyes again, tucking his hands behind his head.

He’s not wrong, but, “The lads.” He nudges Harry’s side with his shoe. “I gotta make sure they haven’t killed each other.” He’s gotta see if anyone has won that stupid bet of Louis’ yet.

Harry gives him a stricken look. “Would they really?”

With a roll of his eyes and a laugh, Niall bends down, offering Harry a hand up. “Nah, if they haven’t killed each other yet, I don’t think they’d start now.”

“Good,” Harry says decisively, taking Niall’s hand and letting him do most of the work in getting Harry vertical again. “I’d hate to see one of them gone too soon.”

Laughing again, Niall points them in the right direction. “Some days I’d be more than glad to be rid of those nutters.”

They walk in amicable silence for a bit, Harry with his eyes closed and face turned towards the sun, Niall gently nudging him around obstacles. Eventually though, Niall’s curiosity gets the best of him.

“So…” he starts. Harry opens his eyes, turning his lazy smile on Niall. He’s blindsided by it for a moment, but Harry just waits him out patiently. “What happened last night?” he finally manages. When he gets a blank look in return, he elaborates. “With Taylor? Kendall? All that crying?” He whistles lowly. “Haven’t seen a girl that mad in a while.”

His face clearing in understanding, Harry looks off into the middle distance. “Taylor… went on a journey. A very… special journey.” Niall raises an eyebrow, waiting out the rest of the story. Harry certainly takes his time. “I was lucky enough to be included in it for a while, but ultimately…” He finally turns back to Niall, locking onto him with a pair of wide, sad eyes. “Her journey took her places I couldn’t follow.”

Niall snorts. Sometimes, Harry’s cryptic bullshit makes Niall want to shake him. “The fuck does that mean?”

“She didn’t respect the journey, only looking for the destination. She realized too late our crossing was meant to be just that: a crossing. Temporary and fleeting.”

Niall resists the urge to roll his eyes. Harry does talk some shit sometimes. “Why was she naked though?”

Harry shrugs. “I’m not sure. She may have thought she was a deer at one point?” He shrugs again. When he sees Niall’s surprised face, he explains, “My path was crossing with Kendall by then.”

Once he puts it all together, Niall just stares at him, slack-jawed. “So… you fucked Taylor, then while Taylor was fucking about, you fucked one of her best friends?”

Harry gives him an offended look. “I wouldn’t put it so crassly.” He blinks at him, doe-eyed. “Our love was intense. I cherished every moment of it.”

That makes Niall crack up. He throws his head back, clapping his hands, and when he looks at Harry again, the fucker is wearing a smug grin. It makes him look a bit like a frog, but that just makes Niall crack up even more. This fucking bloke. He’s—something else.

They take a couple more steps, and then Niall can’t help himself. “Does your path ever cross with blokes, too?”

To his credit, Harry doesn’t miss a step. “My path has taken me on many journeys, with many kinds of people.”

So…that’s a yes, then. Maybe. “It’s just…” He shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets; Harry looks over with an interested eye. “Louis says you two… crossed paths before.”

This makes Harry stop right in his tracks. “He remembers that?”

Niall stops, too, his stomach dropping a bit, because maybe he wasn’t supposed to mention that. But. Well. Seeing as he’s already stepped in it. “Uh, yeah.” While Harry processes that, Niall keeps talking, because sometimes he just can’t stop himself. “Personally, I don’t think he’d mind if you wanted to cross paths again, either.” Harry continues to stare blankly, his jaw hanging, and Niall’s traitorous mouth gets the better of him _again_. “But who doesn’t want to fuck you, I guess, huh?”

That makes Harry come back to life, but it’s a bit jerky, puppet-like. “Oh?” He steps up to Niall, wearing a grin that’s probably meant to be charming, but looks a little mad. “Present company included?”

“Sure,” Niall says, easy, because he really wouldn’t mind. Harry’s a good-looking bloke, and he and Niall get on pretty well. Even if Harry’s a little… weird.

“Good,” Harry smiles, this one looking a bit more natural on his face. He steps even closer, but Niall steps back, not falling for the false charm. He’d rather wait until it’s all genuine, thanks. Harry follows, as Niall takes another step, then another, before turning around; still grinning, Harry falls into step beside him, their elbows brushing.

“I’m glad our paths have crossed, Niall,” Harry says grandly, making a large sweeping motion with his arms that ends in him slinging one around Niall’s shoulder, pulling him in.

“Not yet, stud,” he laughs, pushing Harry away, and Harry cackles.

“We have visitors!” Harry says suddenly, striding ahead. Niall looks at Harry in confusion before he follows Harry’s line of sight.

The first thing he sees is Liam and Louis, wrestling on the ground by the van. This isn’t an unusual sight, and from this distance, Niall can’t tell if this is the playful, can’t-stop-touching-each-other-post-sex kind of wrestling, or the slightly frustrated, don’t-know-any-other-way-to-get-close kind of wrestling. Either way, Liam appears to be winning, which is par the course; he has Louis from behind, his legs wrapped around Louis’ waist, his arm around Louis’ neck. Louis is putting up a valiant struggle, but he’s also laughing too hard to get any good leverage. Whatever happened last night, at least they still don’t mind touching each other.

Hoping for another clue, Niall’s eyes go to Zayn, and that’s when he realizes they do, in fact, have visitors, because there’s a small child in Zayn’s lap, one of her hands tugging at his beard. He doesn’t seem to mind; in fact, he’s even grinning. There’s also a woman in a long skirt, her blonde hair plaited down her bare back, tending to a large pot set over their fire.

“Neil!” Louis shouts. Liam appears unaffected, his hold strong around Louis. Then he says, “Harry!” and Liam’s hold loosens as he looks over. Louis uses this lapse of attention to bite Liam’s arm, which makes him shout and pull it away. After that, Louis wriggles out of the rest of his hold easily, scrambling to his feet and jogging up to Niall and Harry. “Neil!” Louis says again, even though Niall has told him more than once that he hates being called Neil, giving him a big grin and opening his arms as he comes closer.

“Oh fuck off,” Niall says, but he can’t help but grin too, easily accepting the hug Louis bestows upon him. Louis smells the same, like cigarettes and weed and a bit of his own sweat, and Niall breathes it in deep, not realizing he’d missed it until he smelled it again.

“We missed you!” Louis says into Niall’s shoulder, squeezing him tightly. “Liam thought you’d gotten lost!”

Niall laughs, thumping Louis on the back before stepping away from him. “Gone and replaced us already, have you?”

Louis lights up, turning to wave his arm in a grand gesture at their visitors. “This is Lou and Lux!” he says. Neither of them look up, so Niall isn’t sure which is which, but he’s sure he’ll figure it out. “They’re making us oatmeal!”

At that, the little one looks up. “Oatmeal!” she cheers, raising tiny fists into the air.

“Oatmeal!” Louis cheers back. She beams, showing off all her tiny teeth. He turns back to Niall and Harry, looking down at Harry’s legs. “Are those women’s pants?”

Harry shrugs. “They’re pants.” Then he wanders away, drifting over to Zayn and the child, who have started some kind of clapping game.

Louis raises his eyebrows at Niall, a _do I wanna know?_

Niall shakes his head, _don’t even get me started,_ and Louis laughs, loud and bright, before clapping a hand on his back and steering him over to the lady by the fire. She smiles at him as they sit, but most of her attention is taken up by Liam. He’s telling her how one of his sisters tried to make oatmeal once but burned it terribly. When Louis touches his knee as he sits down, Liam stops in the middle of his sentence to grin at him. Louis winks and grins back before directing Liam's attention back to the lady.

Niall narrows his eyes at them, but doesn’t ask questions. Not in front of company, at least.

*

When he gets back to the campsite later, he finds it empty.

Liam, Louis and Zayn must still be off together. Niall had split off from them to gather firewood on his own, not sure how to deal with Liam and Louis, or their strange courtship dance that seemed to involve a lot of fighting and chasing and wrestling. And it was _definitely_ post-sex wrestling; as soon as they had gotten out of earshot of Harry and the girls on their quest for supplies, Louis pulled Niall in and told him what happened with a sharp grin. Then, like they’d been holding themselves back or something, Liam and Louis got even more annoying than usual. Niall would normally feel bad for leaving Zayn alone to babysit them, but considering his satisfied smirk while Louis was talking about last night… Niall has no regrets.

Harry doesn’t seem to be around either; he must still be off helping Lou. “Hello?” he calls, just to make sure he’s alone, as he drops his armful of sticks by the fire pit.

When no one answers him, he wanders over to Harry’s guitar, keeping an eye out for the boys. He picks It up, brushing dirt off the bottom before slinging the strap over his shoulders. It feels good, if a bit different than he remembers; he’s missed having a guitar.

His hands settle immediately into a chord that feels like home, a rhythm and progression that’s been haunting him since he sold his guitar. Eyes searching to make sure the boys still aren’t around, he starts humming, a melody that’s been haunting him even longer. Words he’s kept in his head and scribbled on bits of scrap paper are on the tip of his tongue.

“What are you playing?”

Niall jumps, hard, at the sound of Harry’s voice. “Jesus Christ!” The guitar clangs as he nearly drops it, spinning on his heel to see Harry, poking his head out from the backseat of the van. “You scared me!”

“Sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t sound all that sorry. He’s got nothing but curiosity in his gaze, eyes bright with interest. “What were you playing?”

Niall swallows, bringing the guitar back up into his hands. “Nothing much,” Niall hedges. His fingers land on the same frets as before, and he finds the rhythm again, just to fill the space so he doesn’t have to.

“It’s lovely,” Harry says with a lovely smile. “Is there more?”

Niall nods, but bites his lip. This isn’t some drunken ditty for the lads, it’s… something else. He’s never played it for the boys, that’s for sure. He hasn’t played a song like this for someone since—well, since Bressie. Considering the song is in part _about_ Bressie, perhaps it’s fitting to debut it front of a near stranger. Harry seems open and interested, at least, but Niall’s sure he could sing like a dying cow and Harry would still be pleased as punch.

So he sings.

He sings about that aching feeling he gets when they’re on the road, the highways stretching out empty before them, and he thinks about home too long, he thinks about Bressie too long. He sings about how he’s always in some new town, some new bar, but is always seeing the same shoulders, hearing the same laugh, smelling the same cologne, even when he doesn’t want to, even when he’s perfectly happy and content with the people around him.

He fumbles a key change or two, loses the rhythm a couple times, even forgets the words somewhere in the middle of the second verse, but he trusts the back of his eyelids more than anything he’ll read on Harry’s face. He feels a bit…silly pouring his heart out through song like this, and he’d rather not anyone take the piss until he’s done, thank you.

Not that there’s any reason to worry; Niall barely plucks the last string before Harry bursts into applause, and he opens his eyes to Harry’s grin. Harry’s eyes are a bit wet, even. Before he knows it, Harry is pulling him into a hug, his long arms wrapping tight around Niall’s neck, strangling him, the guitar awkward between them. “That was so good! Just beautiful!” he says into Niall’s hair, his voice choked up.

Niall doesn’t think it was _that_ good, but he’s glad Harry doesn’t hate it, either.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” Harry says as he steps back, releasing Niall from his hold. He dabs at the corners of his eyes, sniffing dramatically before clutching at his chest, just over his heart. It’s easy access, his shirt barely buttoned together. “It was so…” He reaches out, like the word he’s searching for is sitting in the air, and then makes a vague, expansive gesture, letting out a wistful sigh. He looks back at Niall with a wide grin. “You know?”

No. Niall does not know. But before he can inform Harry of this, Harry swoops in and grabs Niall’s face with his huge hands, pulling him in to smack a kiss on his temple.

Niall’s laughing before Harry even pulls back. “So you liked it?” he checks as Harry bounds away.

“ _Liked_ it?” Harry asks, scandalized, his hands braced on the doors to the van. “I _loved_ it.”

Niall laughs, rolling his eyes, as Harry clambers inside. He rummages around for a moment, then with a loud “AHA!” comes back into view, holding a crumple of tin foil aloft.

“I have something to share too!” he says, nearly falling out of the van. Still amused, Niall just watches him as he scrambles over, wearing a goofy grin.

“Oh? What’ve you got there?”

“Acid!” he says, still grinning, holding the crumpled foil up to Niall’s nose. With his other hand, he peels layers of foil back to reveal a handful of small, innocent-looking paper squares.

Niall narrows his eyes. “This that stuff you gave to Taylor yesterday?”

He nods, hair bouncing wildly. Then he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue. Niall leans back a bit, eyebrows going up. He watches, wary, as Harry drags one of his fingers down his tongue. Then he dabs at the squares, picking up two of them. He presses them to his still-outstretched tongue, licking them off. Pulling his tongue back into his mouth, he gives Niall a toothy grin. “Try some!”

Niall raises his eyebrow, peering at the remaining squares. He’s had his fair share of psychedelics, but he’s not sure he trusts acid that made a chick think she was a deer. “This shit gonna turn me into a deer?” he asks, picking up just one with a fingertip.

“Not unless you want it to,” Harry says cryptically, the white squares bright against his pink tongue as he speaks. With a shrug, Niall pops the square into his mouth. One can’t hurt, can it?

He tucks it under his tongue as he watches Harry fold the tinfoil back up. Rather than turn back to the van, Harry shoves it in his pocket. Then he holds out his hands, eyes on the guitar. “May I?”

“Sure, yeah, of course.” He hands it over, and Harry takes it with a serene smile, his hands looking too big on the frets. He meanders off, already plucking out something sad but sweet, and Niall shakes his head, watching him go.

He hears the rest of the boys coming back before he sees them, Louis shouting, “Don’t get my wood wet!” much louder than necessary, followed by laughter that is unmistakably Liam’s.

When he turns around, there they are, coming up through the row of cars. Louis is in the lead, an armful of sticks under one arm, a small log under the other, staying out of Liam’s reach. Liam has a few more logs under his arm, with a bucket of water in the other hand—which he keeps swinging out at Louis, trying to splash him. The dark marks on Louis’ shirt, as well as Zayn’s careful distance, tell Niall that Liam succeeded at least once.

“Oi oi!” Niall calls, making them all perk up, and then Louis takes off at a run, dropping everything. Liam shouts something after him, but it gets lost in Louis’ wild yell. Niall braces himself for impact, but Louis blows right by him, running up to smack his hand on the van. The loud noise makes Harry look over, pausing like a spooked deer, before he resumes playing and meandering.

“First!” Louis shouts, giving them all a triumphant look. Liam just shakes his head, setting down the bucket to haul Louis’ cargo under his arm; Zayn carries on, unbothered by it all. He makes for the van, setting the bucket down right next to Louis. Then he sets his hand on the van, right next to Louis’ head, leaning into his space.

“Second,” he calls, eyes locked with Louis. Their smirks are mirrors of each other.

Liam grumbles as he passes by with his armloads, dropping all the wood by the fire pit and setting down the other water bucket with a sigh. He sets his hands on his hips, squinting up at the sun, then over to the van, where Zayn and Louis have their heads close, snickering to each other about something, their arms casually slung at each other’s waists. A strange look crosses Liam’s face, something sad and a little bitter, before Liam looks away; Niall follows his line of sight to Harry. He’s still playing his guitar, slowly walking around, brushing his bare toes through the grass every few seconds, lost in his own world. Another look crosses Liam’s face, this one determined; with one last glance at Zayn and Louis, he marches over to Harry.

Niall wants to ask, but at the same time really doesn’t. He just… watches. He’s curious about what’s happening here.

Turning and lifting his head at just the right moment, Harry sees Liam. He stops playing, a wide smile breaking out over his face; Niall hopes it’s mirrored on Liam’s when he stops in front of Harry. They speak quietly, too low for Niall to hear, but Liam keeps bumbling through it, Harry coaxing him on with a patient smile. Then Harry’s smile gets even bigger, and Harry reaches into his pocket, the aluminum foil glinting in the sun.

Hm. That’s an interesting development.

He doesn’t wait to watch Liam take it; instead he tugs at Louis’ shirtsleeve. “You lads ready?”

Louis and Zayn look up at the same time, looking like foxes who have been caught in the henhouse. Louis nods, a careful look on his face, not sure what he’s agreeing to, while Zayn just stares, cold-faced. Rolling his eyes, Niall nods over to the other boys; Liam is looking at something in his palm, while Harry has curled around him, speaking earnestly in his ear, tucking the foil back into his back pocket. “Think they’re ready.”

“Maybe not quite yet,” Louis says, his voice bitter, and Niall raises an eyebrow at him; he doesn’t see it, too busy with his eyes on Liam, watching closely as Harry steps away. Then, like he can feel their eyes on him, Liam’s head lifts. He sees them watching.

Very purposefully, eyes locked with Louis, he licks at his palm, a flash of white against the pink of his tongue before he shows them the whites of his teeth. He raises his hand, palm empty, to wave at them. “You guys ready?” he calls, like he didn’t just take drugs from a near-stranger, something he’s warned them against several times.

“Looks quite finished to me,” Niall says, a bit of laughter in his voice, as he claps a hand to Louis’ shoulder. He’s still looking at Liam, slack-jawed, even though Liam’s attention has turned to Harry. He seems to have fallen over. Again.

“Niall!” Harry calls, reaching for him from the ground, like he’s some wounded soldier. “Help me, Niall!”

“Help yourself!” Niall calls back, giving him the finger; Liam is already there, offering a hand to help him up, laughing.

“What did Liam just take?” Louis asks quietly, urgently, grabbing Niall’s arm as he tries to step away.

“Some acid, probably,” Niall says with a shrug, hoping it’ll make Louis let go. It doesn’t. “Harry gives it away like candy.”

Louis raises his eyebrows, but then he narrows his eyes, looking Niall over head to toe. Niall doesn’t like feeling like he’s under inspection. “Did he give you some too?”

“Yeah, so?” He shrugs again, but Louis either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “Just trying to have a good time.” He swipes at Louis’ grip, and he thankfully lets go. “I’m sure he’d give you some too, if you want.”

Zayn makes an interested face, peering more closely at Harry, who’s laughing as Liam is tugging on his arm, trying to get him up. Louis, on the other hand, scoffs. “It’ll be hard enough herding you lot as it is.”

Niall just shrugs again. “Suit yourself, mate.” He walks away then, leaving Louis and Zayn to gossip with each other. Somehow, Harry has managed to get Liam to the ground, which Niall knows from experience is not an easy task. They’re both laughing, though, so Niall thinks Liam wants to be there.

“C’mon lads!” he shouts as he approaches them. He breaks into a run, making them both brace for impact, but he leaps over them, shouting wordlessly. He doesn’t stop running, hearing them laugh behind him as he heads in what he hopes is the direction they’re meant to be going. “Let’s _go!”_

He hears more laughter, then thundering footsteps, at least two sets; he looks back to see Liam and Harry giving chase, Liam running fast and efficient, Harry loose-limbed and galloping. Niall laughs again, just as Liam pulls ahead. Niall puts on an extra burst of speed, turning to look the right way again, but it feels like he’s only just done that when Liam bowls him over in a makeshift tackle that involves a lot of shouting on both their parts.

It turns into laughter as Liam pins him down, hands on his shoulders. “You’re going the wrong way!” he shout-laughs, just before Harry catches up to them, flopping down on top of both of them, all of them laughing.

“Okay!” Louis shouts, “you boys have fun!” They all look up, see Louis and Zayn heading the other way, Louis waving. “We’ll see you later! Tell you how the concert is!”

“Wait!” Harry shouts, getting up faster than Niall thought he knew how to move, running after them like a desperate child left behind. Liam stays behind to help Niall up, slinging an arm around his shoulders as they follow at a more sedate pace.

“It’s gonna be a good day, Niall,” Liam says, panting a bit, smiling so wide his eyes are just slits. “I can feel it.”

*

They’re a rowdy bunch as they make their way towards the venue. They’re not the only ones, at least. Everywhere he turns Niall only finds smiles and laughter, cheering and singing; there’s a buzz in the air, palpable excitement lingering over them like the humidity. He can hear snippets of song from cars as they pass, the same refrain echoing over and over:

_“Come on people now, smile on your brother, everybody get together, try to love one another right now…”_

Harry leads the way, although Niall doesn’t think he really knows where he’s going. He looks like he does at least, with a stick he found somewhere held aloft like some kind of conductor’s baton, frog-marching and cheering, so they follow, children after the pied piper. Liam keeps bouncing between them all like an overexcited puppy, wrestling with Louis one minute, dancing with Niall the next, joining Harry in… whatever it was he was doing, falling back every so often to chat animatedly at Zayn, who nods along, laughs encouragingly.

Niall just feels—giddy, and light, just incredibly fucking _happy_ that he gets to be here for this.

 “There are so many people,” Niall remarks to Louis at one point, because there _are_ , a whole herd of people migrating in the same direction, only growing thicker as they get closer.

“They’re in it, man,” Harry says, walking backwards with his arms spread wide, a mad grin on his face, “just like us.” He closes his eyes, still walking backwards, (Niall doesn’t think _that’s_ a good idea,) and inhales deeply to proclaim, “You just have to close your eyes and _see_.”

That makes Louis and Liam laugh. “You mean _open_ your eyes and see?” Louis teases, while Liam giggles into his shoulder.

“No!” Harry says, affronted, opening his eyes just to scowl at them. “They have to be _closed_. It’s the only way to truly see.”

“See what?” Zayn asks, one part genuine curiosity and two parts confused exasperation.

He gives them a look like the answer should be obvious. _“Everything.”_ With that dramatic statement, he whirls around, his gauzy shirt swirling bright colors around him.

It’s when they reach the top of the hill they’ve been steadily climbing the past mile or so that it really hits him, though—almost literally, considering he runs right into Harry’s back: he’s stopped short at the crest of the hill, where it’s a steeper descent on the other side.

“Whoa,” Louis says, stopping at Niall’s side. Peering over Harry’s shoulder, Niall can’t help but echo the sentiment, with a bit more profanity.

There are so. Many. Fucking. People. Streaming past them, a whole swarm of them, like ants on an anthill, all heading for the stage set up near a mile away, where a large crowd has already gathered. It makes him feel small and vulnerable, easily lost and forgotten in this mass of humanity, and there’s a sudden, sharp flare of panic, his chest going tight, his stomach heavy, his head light. Reaching out instinctively, his fingers tangle Harry’s shirt; Harry reaches back, patting his hip twice before letting his hand rest there. Pressing his forehead to Harry’s back, he takes a deep breath.

“You okay, Nialler?” Louis asks, his hand warm and solid at the center of Niall’s back.

He takes another deep breath, appreciating the steady weight of their hands, grounding and sure. He knows suddenly, doubtlessly, that he’ll be fine; his boys will take care of him.

He turns his head, still pressed to Harry’s back, to squint at Louis. The sky is bright blue behind him, the blue of his eyes even brighter. His eyebrow raises, a silent question, and Niall winks, waving him off with an attempt at a grin. Louis doesn’t look convinced, so with another deep breath, Niall straightens, taking in the sight again. It’s still a fucking lot of people, but. “We’re good, man.”

Still giving him a wary eye, Louis lets his hand drop away, which Niall is cool with, but he doesn’t let go of Harry; Harry doesn’t let go of him.

This is fucking crazy. He figured the lineup would draw a big crowd, but this… this is something else. Something bigger. Bigger than any of them, then all of them combined. It’s…

“Beautiful,” Harry says. He pats at Niall’s hip again, and Niall lets go of his shirt, letting Harry step ahead, turn to give them all a wide, expectant grin, his arms stretching to either side of him. “Are you ready for this, boys?”

Liam shouts, something that sounds like a wordless battle cry, raising his fist above his head, and takes off at a run down the hill, blowing past Harry. He’s quick to follow, shouting tonelessly, taking off after Liam with his hands raised high, his shirt streaming after him.

Niall takes off after them, laughing, and Zayn and Louis follow suit, whooping and shouting, barely avoiding the other people who are taking safer, slower routes down the hill. Niall can’t even care, can only laugh, laughing every time someone curses them out, laughing when it feels like his feet are barely even touching the ground, laughing when he thinks this must be what it’s like to be a bird, to fly, to be _free_.

There’s a stream at the bottom of the hill, about knee deep; most everyone else is following it down a ways to where there are a few big rocks to use for stepping stones. Harry and Liam have done no such thing, gone blundering straight into it, both of them laughing, gasping, wet, sparkling in the sun. Niall doesn’t even slow down, barreling towards them with a shout, splashing them tremendously as he runs into the water.

He runs smack into Harry but he takes it in stride, using Niall’s momentum to pull them into some kind of spin, the world a blur, nothing but water and sunshine, laughter, pure, unbridled _joy_ , until Niall thinks he might get sick with it.

Niall stops their spinning, needing to catch his breath. The world comes back into focus: the trees, the hill, the sky, the stream, the sun, but it’s mostly Harry’s face, wide and grinning, breathless, water sparkling off his curls, his dimple, his eyelashes. He looks ethereal, otherworldly, magical.

He wants to kiss Harry, suddenly, wildly, and he knows Harry would let him if he tried, knows from the way Harry’s eyes keep darting to his mouth, the way his grip tightens on Niall’s elbows.

He doesn’t.

Instead he lets Harry go, turning to Zayn and Louis as they catch up, letting himself be caught up and carried on. There will be time for that later; he’s sure of it.

*

“Something’s wrong with Liam.”

It takes a moment to register with Niall, for the sensations to make sense. Zayn’s hand is tight around his arm. His voice is low and urgent. _Something’s wrong with Liam._

“What?” Feeling the smile slide off his face, he turns to look at Zayn. He blinks a few times, trying to squint his face into better focus; what he can make out looks stern and serious. “Liam?”

“We have to go.” He pulls on Niall’s arm, and it takes a second for his body to catch up with the movement. He feels like he never regains his balance as Zayn starts dragging him through the throngs of people.

“What’s going on?” he thinks he asks. Zayn doesn’t answer him, so he’ll probably never know. He gets distracted by the way the colors move in a girl’s shirt, the way the sun sparkles in her smile.

Zayn keeps pulling him along.

It takes ages, but the crowd begins to thin. Niall finally catches his balance, but Zayn doesn’t let him go. If anything, his grip grows tighter around Niall’s arm.

There are people up ahead of them. It takes Niall a second to realize they’re Liam and Louis, locked together in some kind of struggle.

“Zayn,” Niall says quietly; Zayn’s hand slips from his wrist to catch his hand, and Niall squeezes. Zayn squeezes back, but with his mouth set in such a grim line, it’s not as reassuring as Niall had hoped.

“No!” Liam shouts suddenly, breaking away from Louis at a dead sprint. “No, I’ve gotta go with Andy!”

“Andy’s not here!” Louis shouts after him, quickly giving chase. “ _Liam!_ ”

Liam ignores him, looking to the sky when a helicopter buzzes close. He looks…frantic. Desperate. His eyes are wild. “Andy? _Andy_!”

Niall can do nothing but watch, squeezing Zayn’s hand, as Louis takes him down with a tackle. It seems to happen in slow motion, Louis’ arms around his knees, both of them slamming into the mud. Liam, of course, doesn’t go down without a fight, squirming and kicking out—he nearly gets Louis in the face. Liam keeps _shouting_.

“Fucking—Liam! _Liam!_ Calm down!”

“Where’s Andy? I need to—”

“Andy’s _dead_ , Liam!” Louis spits, grunting against Liam’s knee. “He’s _dead_!”

Liam freezes, wild eyes on Louis. “What?”

With a heavy sigh, Louis plants his hands in the mud on either side of Liam. “I’m sorry, Liam,” he says, trying for gentle but not quite making it with how out of breath he is. “Andy didn’t make it.”

The open shock on Liam’s face stabs Niall right in the chest. The way his face crumples twists the knife. The anguished wail that follows rips Niall’s heart out completely.

He’s heard Liam talk about a guy named Andy before, but never when he was sober. Liam doesn’t drink nearly as much as the rest of them, something to do with a kidney that doesn’t work right that Niall thinks is mostly bullshit. More often than not, Liam sticks off to the side, nursing a couple of beers while the other boys go wild, making sure no one gets lost or dead or in jail.

Niall thinks it has more to do with the fact that Liam turns into a right fucking mess when he gets drunk. He doesn’t quite know how to pace himself, so he always gets too drunk too fast. He’s seen Liam smoke and drink until he was wobbling all over the place, throwing up in bushes, climbing things he shouldn’t, narrowly avoiding getting his teeth kicked in…. By the end of it, when Liam needed to be carried to bed, he was always mumbling about someone named Andy, peppered with a lot of apologies and, every once in a while, a few tears.

Whoever this Andy guy is—or was, Niall supposes, since he’s dead—Liam cares for him a lot, since he’s sobbing in the mud over him.

“Fuck, Liam—” Louis pulls him in, wrapping his arms around Liam’s shaking shoulders. Liam goes easy, all the fight gone from him. He clings tightly to Louis’ thin frame, pressing his face into Louis’ shoulder, still crying. “I’m sorry, Liam, I’m sorry.”

Niall doesn’t really know what to do with himself. He wants to help, but he doesn’t know what to _do_. He’s always been right useless in emergency situations.

“We should get back to camp,” Zayn says quietly, eyes locked on Liam.

“Okay,” Niall agrees. Neither of them move. “Who’s Andy?” He’s never outright asked before, wanting Liam to come to him about it on his own time.

Zayn sighs, a soft thing that Niall almost doesn’t hear over the sounds of Liam crying and Louis trying to shush him. “Andy was Liam’s best friend. They volunteered for the war together.” Niall takes in a sharp breath as Zayn adds unnecessarily, “Andy didn’t come home.”

“Fuck.” Niall can’t imagine. Sure, there’s Bressie, but at least Bressie’s still _alive_. He has Bressie’s new address and phone number, could ring him if he had a phone, show up on his doorstep if he was desperate enough. Andy was probably nothing more than a wooden cross in a quiet field in Kansas.

Zayn squeezes his hand again, but then he lets go, taking slow steps towards Liam and Louis. Niall sways forward, but finds himself rooted to the spot, watching Zayn’s cautious approach. Louis looks up, sending Zayn a quiet, pleading look. He looks more scared than Niall’s ever seen him.

Zayn reaches out as he crouches down next to them, fingertips light on Liam’s shoulder. Liam jumps at the touch anyway, eyes wide, but when he sees that it’s Zayn he launches himself at him, so hard that it knocks Zayn on his ass. Louis looks simultaneously relieved and still terrified.

“Jesus Christ,” Niall whispers to himself, shaking his head as he turns away. He doesn’t want to watch this anymore. The crowd looms behind them, a pulsing mass of bodies that Niall can’t see through. It’s only then that he realizes he can’t see Harry’s bright shirt, long hair, or giraffe limbs. He turns in a circle, like Harry might be hiding just out of sight, but. Nothing. “Where’s Harry?”

Louis, standing over Liam and Zayn with his arms crossed while Zayn tries to convince Liam to go back to camp, looks over. “What?”

“Harry.” Niall gestures to the absence of him.

Louis doesn’t get it. “What about him?”

“Where is he?” Niall insists.

Finally he gets it, but then his face turns sour. Angry, even. “Liam is _tripping out_ , and you’re worried about _Harry?”_

Well. “He’s one of us, ain’t he?” They need to stick together, especially in this mess. Especially when one of them is having a rough go of it. That’s what mates _do_.

He’s not sure how much of that he says out loud. Either way, Louis’ face twists, into something angry, raw, and ugly. “Harry can go fuck himself for all I care.”

Niall raises his eyebrows. “That’s a bit harsh, mate.” He thought Louis _liked_ Harry. He thought _Louis_ wanted to be the one fucking Harry.

“If Harry was ‘one of us’, he’d be here,” Louis says flatly.

There are more questions on the tip of his tongue, but then Zayn gets Liam to his feet and Louis’ attention is immediately diverted. The three of them look a right fucking mess, smeared with mud, sweaty, exhausted, but Liam looks the worst, his head lolling on Zayn’s shoulder, moving like a puppet with its strings tangled. Louis immediately reaches out to help, but Zayn gives him a warning look and his hand stops just shy of Liam’s shoulder. They begin herding Liam away, but Niall stays. He looks behind him, as if Harry will have magically popped up in the last thirty seconds.

It takes a few steps before Louis realizes Niall’s not with them. He stops, shooting Niall one of his best exasperated looks. “You coming?”

Shaking his head, Niall looks around, hoping for even just a glimpse of Harry. The world shifts and spins around him, too much, too fast; he feels completely lost but rooted to the spot. Maybe he’s forgotten how to use his feet; Harry could help with that. He’s been useful like that all day.

Niall opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, his voice caught in his throat, his hands caught in the air. Has he forgotten how to speak, too?

After a moment, Louis huffs and rolls his eyes. He stalks over to Niall, then claps his hand around the back of his neck. When he drags Niall forward, he feels distinctly like a puppy that’s been caught doing something bad. Niall is sure he protests, but Louis ignores him.

With one last glance behind them revealing no sign of Harry, Niall gives up resisting. He swats at Louis’ arm until he lets go with a frown, and Niall pushes ahead, catching up easily with Zayn and Liam.

When he senses Niall’s presence, Liam looks over blearily. There’s a confused crease to his forehead, like he knows he should recognize Niall but can’t.

“It’s me, mate,” Niall says, nudging him with his elbow. “Niall.”

“Niall,” Liam repeats, like he’s testing the word out, and then his face brightens marginally in recognition. “Niall.”

“That’s it,” Niall says encouragingly, nudging him again, and Liam gives him a flicker of a smile. Niall swallows a sigh, struggling to smile back.

*

Time stretches, snaps, and loses all meaning. He doesn’t know how long it takes for them to get back to camp, or how long it takes to tuck Liam inside the tent. Liam is easily spooked, jumping at every loud noise, trying to run off every time he gets too paranoid. Once he gets somewhere quiet and dark, Liam doesn’t want to speak to anyone, cursing them out every time they try to talk to him.

“We just have to wait it out now, I guess,” Zayn mutters, sitting down cross-legged by the unlit fire, a cig in his mouth. Niall, having resigned himself to the ground long ago, sighs heavily.

He doesn’t know how long they wait. The other boys smoke up a storm, lighting cig after cig, but whereas Zayn stays seated, Louis can’t keep still, pacing around their campsite. Niall can’t watch either of them for too long. He doesn’t like the cold, careful way that Zayn sits, hates the way he looks like ash, like he might crumble at the wrong touch. He hates the haze of angry color and smoke swirling around Louis, the constant movement making Niall dizzy.

He hates the quiet, hates the way he can hear everything else, the birds in the distance, the wind in the trees, every scuffle of Louis’ feet in the grass, every drag of smoke Zayn takes. His own heartbeat thudding in his ears. He wishes they would turn on the radio in the van, or his fingers were steady enough to play the guitar. He wishes someone would talk, but Niall can’t think of anything good to say, nothing that will stir the other boys into conversation.

Unable to take it anymore, Niall gets up.

“Where you going?” Louis demands immediately.

“Nowhere,” Niall says, waving him off, not planning on going too far.

Louis starts after him, looking ready to grab him by the scruff of the neck again, but Zayn’s quiet “don’t” stops him like a dog at the end of a leash. Niall keeps going, down along their row of cars until he can’t hear any the boys anymore, until all that’s left is the wind in the trees, the sounds of Niall’s own thoughts.

He stops. Looking back, he really hasn’t wandered too far; he can still see Louis and Zayn, the tent, the van. Louis looks torn between staying and following after him. He looks down to Zayn, who has finally moved, but just to lift his head, keep his eyes on Niall. For a second, Niall wonders if Zayn’s ‘don’t’ had been for him, not Louis.

He waves his arms in a _see? not too far_ kind of way. Louis sighs in dramatic relief, his head dropping back, shoulders slumping, while a quiet tension lifts from Zayn’s shoulders. Both of them reach for more cigarettes. With a sigh of his own, Niall sits in the grass. Laying back, eyes on the sky, he lets himself drift for a while.

He finds characters in the clouds: a ballerina with the laugh of a bird; an Irishman with the voice of a fiddle; two odd men with huge faces and tiny bodies and voices like electric guitars on too much reverb. The men fight, growing into two stretched, oblong faces of grotesque misery, melding into one another with the dying screams of melted guitars, as the sky changes from blues and whites to reds and golds.

Niall’s hands twitch some more, pulling at the blades of grass beneath his fingertips until he’s digging dirt into his fingernails, itching to find strings, even though he knows he could never capture the sound. He keeps an eye on the sun, watches it gets redder, bloodier, set the clouds on fire. The ones that aren’t heavy, grey, damp, threatening rain at any moment.

Too quickly, it all fades into grey smoke, lilac and shadows, the faces in the sky turning into nothing. Yet again, he finds himself wishing Harry was here.

He doesn’t know when he even got separated from the group; the harder he tries to remember, the more it all slips through his grasp like grains of sand. The last time Niall had seen him for sure had to have been hours ago, in the crowd, when everything seemed to have peaked.

It had been in the middle of a song, when Niall had opened his eyes. He’d stopped dancing altogether, drawing up short enough that Harry, in the middle of some dance involving a lot of arm movements that made his gauzy shirt swirl around him, had run into him.

“What is it?” His voice was close, hot on Niall’s ear, warm body pressed against the entirety of Niall’s back, shoulders to hips to thigh, his hand a grounding weight at the crook of Niall’s elbow. Niall could only shake his head, staring at the world around them. He didn’t see it, but he knew Harry was smiling as he asked, “You see something?”

“Colors,” Niall said around a smile. Lots of them, a rainbow of hues trailing after the clouds, in the wake of the wind in the leaves, after the people as they all move to the same beat. The music. The _music._ He could—he could _see_ it.

“Yeah?” Harry prompts, wrapping his arm around Niall’s chest, his chin on Niall’s shoulder. Grounding. Good. Niall is too entranced to bother with words. He can’t stop smiling. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

It _was_. The way everyone was connected, the way the trees and the stars and the universe aligned to bring them all here, together. Not just him and Harry, not even just the five of them, but the mass of people, all gathered for peace and love and music, so many that Niall should have felt scared and cluttered and smothered but all he felt was _free_. It’s what music is _about,_ the give and take, the connection, sharing the same heartbeat for one glorious, infinite, timeless moment.

Niall wanted to tell Harry this, put it all into words, but the only thing he could do was smile helplessly, lifting his arms as the song continued. Harry just laughed, kissing Niall’s cheek before twirling away from him, setting him free again. Eyes open and smiling, Niall kept dancing.

He’s not sure what happened to Harry between then and when Zayn had grabbed his arm. He’d thought Harry had stuck close by, but Niall hadn’t been paying attention to much beyond what was right in front of him, on sensory overload. He wishes Harry were here so he could ground himself again, find comfort in the weight of Harry’s hand. Wishes Harry were here to smile, bring Zayn back to life and calm Louis down while they wait for Liam to be okay again.

But he’s gone, lost to the crowd, the music, maybe even the world—but his things are still here, so maybe he’ll come back. He has to. He wouldn’t just leave his guitar, his camera, his bag. His _drugs_. He knows better than to bring up his worries with Louis, and he’s not sure Zayn is all there right now, so he holds tight to that belief, tucks it in his pocket to remember. Harry’s coming back. He has to.

Then he hears something. For a second he thinks it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, maybe it’s just a bird with a late song, but then he picks out a melody: _You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_.

He lifts his head, finding Harry’s figure easily, even in the quickly fading light. He’s just strolling along, a jaunty whistle on his lips, as if hours haven’t passed, as if he’s been with them the whole time, like he was just off for a quick piss or something.

For a second, Niall wonders if he’s tripping out, the timing too perfect, like magic conjured Harry here. He gets to his feet, watching as Harry draws closer, still moseying along without a care in the world. Above anything, Niall is just—surprised.

He knows he was just trying to convince himself that Harry would come back, but he also knows that a crowd this big is easy to get lost in, especially for someone on a ‘constant journey’ like Harry. He could have easily kept wandering, continued down his path, letting it branch off instead of intertwining with theirs, but. He came _back_.

“Niall!” Harry cheers when he gets close, moving to sweep him up into a hug, but something must show on Niall’s face, because he stops short, arms still outstretched, his sleeves fluttering pathetically. The bright smile on his face droops. Eyes warily twitching between Niall and the other boys, he slowly asks, “What’s going on?”

Niall opens his mouth, but immediately looks to Louis. He’s frozen in place, cigarette almost to his mouth, looking spooked, like Harry’s a ghost. Then he looks to Zayn, who’s shaking his head absently as he takes a drag, eyes on the fire pit. Niall wonders if he’s even looked up.

Frowning now, Harry pushes past Niall, looking around them. “Where’s Liam?”

The mention of Liam snaps Louis back to life; he moves quickly, stalking right up to Harry, poking him in the chest as he demands, “What the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

Harry takes a few unsteady steps back, his face creasing into a confused frown. “I couldn’t find you. I just…” He gestures uselessly. “…wondered how Liam was—”

Louis cuts in with an obnoxious, fake laugh. “Liam? You were worried about Liam?” He points to the tent with his cig. “That Liam, who’s been curled up in a ball on a bad fucking trip for the past six hours?”

Harry’s face falls comically; Niall holds in his laughter, knowing it’s bad timing. “A bad trip?” he says, like such a thing is a completely foreign concept to him, even though just last night Taylor had thought she was a goddamn deer.

“Yeah, he’s having a bad fucking trip,” Louis snaps, glaring at Harry like it’s all his fault; he looks like a teakettle that’s about to start whistling, while Harry just looks shocked and dismayed. “That dumb motherfucker took—that _shit_ that you gave him, just because he wants to—impress you,” Louis spits, poking Harry in the chest again, making Harry briefly look down in confusion before he looks back at the tent. “Who the fuck knows why the fuck he wants to do _that_ , considering you just waltz in and out of here like you’re—Mary fucking Poppins or something—”

This time he uses both hands, pushing Harry back; Niall tenses, ready for the fight that Louis is obviously itching for to break out, but Harry’s not even listening, watching the tent with a keen eye. “How much did he take?”

“What do you mean, ‘how much’, obviously _too much_ —”

“I mean _how much_ ,” Harry snaps, finally focusing his gaze on Louis.

It seems to throw Louis off, just enough, but he’s still all anger as he replies, “I don’t know, he took whatever the fuck you gave him—”

Harry makes a despairing face. “I told him not to take it all at once!” He moves for the tent, but Louis blocks him before gets too far. Harry gives him a confused frown, which only makes Louis even angrier.

“This is _your fault,”_ he says, pushing Harry back again; he steps back, a bewildered look on his face. “Liam has been fucked up for _hours_ because _you_ gave him that _shit_ and then _wandered off_ to go fucking—talk to aliens or some shit—”

“There were no aliens,” Harry says seriously.

Louis puffs up so much, Niall is afraid he might explode. “Don’t you get it? We don’t need you here!” He pushes Harry so hard that Harry actually stumbles; Niall finally gets to his feet, ready to stop Harry if he swings back, but Harry just gives Louis a stricken look.

“Lou,” Zayn says sharply, and everyone turns to look at him.

He’s still staring at the pit, but his face is harder, stone instead of ash. “Give it a fucking rest.” Louis is still ready for a fight, but Zayn’s not finished, his quiet voice cutting through Louis’ angry sputtering. “Liam made a choice, and now we’re fucking dealing with it.” He looks up, his eyes dark in the dim light. “Don’t blame this on Harry just because you’re upset.”

Niall thinks Zayn’s right: this isn’t Harry’s fault. Not completely, anyway. “Just leave it, Lou,” Niall says, when he sees Louis’ mouth open again, and Louis gives him a betrayed look. Niall doesn’t care; he’s tired of these bad vibes. Whatever shit he has with Harry is going to have to wait.

Harry hasn’t been paying attention to any of them, moving closer to the tent like a curious cat. “Liam?” he calls cautiously. The rest of them shut up, their ears perking up. There’s no response. “Liam, it’s Harry.” When there’s no response, Louis scoffs, as if that’s proof enough that Harry should just leave.

Thankfully, Harry’s only got eyes and ears for Liam. “I’m sorry you’re having a bad trip,” he says, raising his voice a bit as he meanders over towards the van. “Those are never much fun.” His hand flutters through the air, taking rest on his guitar, leaning against the side of the van. “All part of the journey, though.” He sweeps the guitar up into his hands, not bothering with the strap, and plays a test chord. He makes a face and shakes his head at the sound, even though it’s in tune. “You can’t know the good without knowing the bad, too.”

Louis rolls his eyes, scoffing again. Niall spares him a glance, but is too interested in where Harry’s going with all this to care about his little bitch fit.

“I had a really bad trip once!” Harry calls, like that’s a good thing, opening the van door. He reaches in with one hand, holding the guitar away from himself with the other. “If it hadn’t been for my friend Nick…” The lean he has to do almost sends him off balance, but then he sways back up, something in his hand. “I would’ve drowned in the bay.”

Niall doesn’t know how almost dying is supposed to make Liam feel better, but considering he yelled at the rest of them any time they spoke to him, Niall thinks Harry’s coming out ahead. And now at least Louis looks bewildered, which is better than looking angry.

“It was pretty scary. I went over the edge, man,” Harry says easily, while he ties a pen across the second fret. “Everything was deep… dark… quiet… cold….” He sticks his tongue out a little, focusing on placing it correctly. He finally gets it, and throws the group of them a bright smile, at odds with his story.

None of them smile back.

Raising his eyebrows, Harry turns back to the tent; the chord he plays sounds much better than his first attempt. He begins strumming out a familiar chord progression. It’s hesitant at first, but he gains confidence the longer he plays it. “When I came to again, there was this song playing, right? And it was… magical. Beautiful. Changed my world.”

“Please tell me he’s not about to start singing,” Louis says loudly; Niall jabs him in the shoulder to get him to shut up. Zayn’s face is impassive, just staring into the fire, and he’s got his knees up to his chin, arms around his shins. Harry strums another few bars, humming to himself, and then—yes. He sings.

 _“Let us be lovers, we’ll marry our fortunes together…”_ His movements get bigger as he continues, _“I’ve got some real estate here in my bag.”_ His voice cracks a bit, his face pinching as he reaches for higher notes. _“So we bought a pack of cigarettes, and Mrs. Wagner pies…and walked off to look for America.”_

Niall doesn’t really know the song, only in the vaguely familiar sense of something he’s heard on the radio a few times. He knows it’s by Simon and Garfunkel, at least. The other two boys don’t seem to know it well either, but he sees the way the glowing ember of Zayn’s cig is keeping time. Louis’ face looks carefully blank, like he’s not sure how to react just yet.

The surprise is when Liam starts singing, too, somewhere around the third verse. Niall can barely hear him through the tent, but the wide grin Harry sends them, still singing, confirms his suspicions. Niall can’t help but grin back, because it’s the first thing Liam’s done besides yell or cry in a while. The other boys hear it too, both looking up, dogs on alert, but none of them make any moves.

It’s—a bit haunting, the way their voices sound together, Liam’s quiet yet clear upper harmonies against Harry’s rougher, lower voice. Niall likes it. A lot.

Together, Harry and Liam finish the song; with a flourish of strings, Harry stops playing. He immediately pulls off the guitar, going to his knees by the entrance to the tent. “Liam?” he says quietly. “Can I come in?”

They all wait, breath held. Niall is sure even the wind stops to listen for Liam’s reply.

“Okay,” comes the weak response. Harry doesn’t even look back.

*

“Hey.” Harry’s voice is quiet, but all three of them hear it. They all look over at once, and Harry gives them a serene smile. “You can come in now.”

Louis is the first one to his feet, but somehow Zayn beats them all there, nearly knocking Harry on his arse in his rush to get inside the tent. Niall is the last one in, going to his hands and knees once he sees Louis’ feet disappear inside.

He finds himself face to face with Harry, so close their mouths almost touch, their noses brushing before they each pull back into their own personal space. He freezes, and the moment draws out thick and sticky between them like taffy, stretching out slow like Harry’s smile, like the wrinkles blooming by his eyes, like the dimples carving into his cheeks. “Hi,” Harry says, still smiling, and he’s close enough Niall can feel the air moving across his face.

“Oi!” Louis snaps, and the sticky moment breaks, the taffy drawn too thin. They both look at Louis, who gives them an impatient _what the fuck_ kind of look, and then back at each other. Harry wriggles his eyebrows, in a complicated way that makes Niall giggle, before backing up to let Niall in.

He crawls inside, nearly knocking over the lantern set up in the middle of the tent. Louis herds him into an empty corner while Harry leaves; once things are settled, he finds himself next to Louis. In the far corner is Liam, huddled under a blanket; he looks tired, ashy, drawn too thin. With no one else on his side of the tent—the blank space next to him reserved for Harry—Liam looks… lonely. Zayn’s claimed the spot across from him, close as he dares without touching him, with Louis right next to him, looking like he can’t decide if he wants to punch Liam or hug him. Niall wants to do both, a little. The punching can probably wait until Liam doesn’t look so much like shit.

None of them say anything for a few moments, all eyes on Liam, while his eyes are unfocused, gazing in the general direction of the lamp. Finally, when it appears Harry won’t be back for a bit, Niall asks, “How ya doing, mate?”

A beat, and then Liam lets out a weak chuckle, eyes finally coming into focus on Niall. “Been better.”

“Have you shat yourself?” he asks next, because this is awkward and uncomfortable, because he has no control of his mouth right now, because he just wants to see Liam smile, because right now it looks like Liam might never smile again.

There’s another long silence. Louis and Zayn give him eerily similar _what the fuck_ looks.

But then, like it just took a second for his brain to catch up, Liam cracks up. There’s a hysterical edge to his laughter that Niall doesn’t like, but he smiles back reflexively, glad to hear him laugh, even if it’s not all that funny.

Eventually, Liam finally gathers enough composure to look Niall in the eye, a mad edge to his smile as he laughs, “No, man. I haven’t shat myself.”

“There you go lad!” He wishes he were close enough to clap his hand on some part of Liam, make sure he’s still solid. “You’re doing just fine, then.”

Liam lets out another laugh, this one more like a weak giggle, before closing his eyes, swaying a bit. The ghost of a smile lingers around his mouth.

His concerned pout finally losing some of its weight, Zayn reaches out, lets his fingers graze Liam’s knee. It makes Liam look at Zayn, his face going softer. Pleased.

Louis’ face only grows harder. He opens his mouth, despite the warning look Niall’s giving him, but then the tent flap opens, Harry’s shaggy head and bright grin poking in.

“Hi,” he sings, ignoring the positively murderous look Louis is giving him. He holds out the thing he’s got in his hands—an old, tattered cigar box—and Niall ends up taking it, even though he doesn’t think it was meant for him. “I brought presents!”

Harry then proceeds to klutz his way inside, almost falling in Niall’s lap. Niall would say Harry’s completely oblivious to the looks Louis is giving him, but he thinks Harry knows exactly what he’s doing, the little shit. He only has eyes and smiles for Liam either way, Liam looking back like Harry hung the moon.

Niall shakes his head, not here for any of that bullshit; he opens Harry’s box instead, curious, and completely unsurprised to not find any cigars. Instead he finds rolling papers, an old wood pipe, a pair of scissors, the same crumple of tin foil from earlier, a large paper sack smelling strongly of weed, and another, smaller sack, the top rolled down tight.

“Thank you, Niall,” Harry says graciously, having finally settled next to Liam, close but not quite touching. He takes the box out of Niall’s lap, just as Niall opens the small sack.

“Mushrooms?” he says, pulling out a shriveled, dried cap. It feels weird against his fingers, grainy and wrinkly. He sniffs it; it smells like shit. He’s not sure why he expected anything else.

“You can have some, if you like,” Harry says, making Niall look up from his inspection.

Niall makes a disgusted face; he doesn’t trust a mushroom found in a guy’s drug box. He’s had an adventurous enough day, thanks. He drops the cap back in and rolls the bag back up tight. “Thanks, mate, I’m good.”

“Suit yourself,” Harry says with a shrug, the wooden pipe in his hands, the bowl freshly packed green. He opens the cigar box to let Niall drop the bag in while simultaneously offering the pipe to Liam. When Liam eyes it dubiously, Harry just offers it again. “It’ll help, trust me.”

Louis scoffs, loudly and obviously, but they all ignore it. Harry looks back down at his box, rifling through it as he continues to offer the pipe to Liam. After a long, considering look, Liam finally takes it, reaching for the lighter Zayn is offering as well.

As Liam lights the pipe, Louis turns on Harry. “Just got a big ole box of tricks, don’t ya?”

“Yep!” Harry says with a smile, making sure to find Louis’ eyes. “You’re welcome to some too, if you like. I like to share!” The words seem innocent, but there’s a challenge behind Harry’s eyes.

Louis breathes out heavily through his nose. He’s the first to look away, glancing over at Niall, who gives him another warning look. _Fine_ , his face says, and he turns away from both of them, watching Liam pass the pipe to Zayn. His jaw is still too tight for him not to be still pissed, but he finally seems to get that it’s not the fucking time.

The air in the tent goes tight, all of them quiet as Zayn passes the pipe to Louis. He hits it, because he’s not a complete idiot, but just the quickest of puffs, and offers it to Niall without looking at him. Niall takes it. Fucking _gladly_.

“I’m sorry for ruining Woodstock,” Liam finally says, just as Niall’s inhaling.

Niall chokes on smoke in his haste to tell Liam just how fucking _wrong_ he is. Luckily, the other boys have it covered, so he can cough up his lung without worrying about Liam.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Louis demands, while Harry moans, “Liam, that is the _opposite_ of the point I was trying to make,” and even Zayn goes, “ _Liam_.”

“I’m sorry,” he practically wails, looking like he’s about to fucking cry, and that just won’t _do_.

Hastily passing the pipe off to Harry, Niall lunges for Liam, nearly kicking over the lantern. Louis shouts, Harry and Zayn’s eyes go wide, and Liam’s hands come up for a second like he’s warding off an attack, but Niall just flops into his lap, his face mushing into Liam’s chest, wrapping his arms around Liam’s startled form.

“Liam,” he begins, surreptitiously spitting out a bit of Liam’s shirt, “you are the bravest, kindest, most good-hearted guy I know.” This only makes Liam go stiffer in Niall’s hold, but Niall won’t let go until Liam tells him to. Maybe if he clings hard enough, some of his thoughts and beliefs will like, seep into Liam. “You’re allowed to have bad trips, bad days, bad _years,_ even. We’ll still love ya. That’s what mates are for, yeah?” Liam relaxes, marginally, as Niall continues under his breath, “You think Louis is a joy to be around all the time?” That earns him something that Niall decides is a laugh. “You haven’t ruined _anything_ ,” he insists, squeezing at him. “We’re just here to help, man.”

The tent is quiet. He’s not sure what’s happening in Liam’s brain, because he’s gone a bit stiff again. All he can see right now is the white of Liam’s t-shirt, a bit of his arm, and maybe the corner of Harry’s paisley-patterned sleeve. Then Niall hears the big wet sniff coming from that general direction. He looks up, and Liam’s gaze is unfocused, staring off into the middle distance, but his eyes are wet and his chin is wobbling. Oh God.

Looking around wildly, his eyes land on Louis first. He jerks his head, eyes wide. _Help me._

He expects Louis to chime in with some more good words, because even if he’s always ragging on Liam, Louis always has good things to say about him in the end. But Louis just looks at him helplessly; his mouth opens, and nothing comes out.

Then suddenly Harry topples over, arms wide, encompassing the both of them with a sigh. Niall tries to protest—this is _his_ hug with Liam, dammit—but all he manages is a grunt into Harry’s armpit when Zayn flops down on the other side. Louis, not to be outdone, slams into Niall’s back, trying to wrap his arms around all four of them, but from the sound of it, he just strangles Harry and Zayn a bit.

Niall hates it immediately. It’s hot and close and sweaty—none of them smell good—Louis is not as light as he looks—Niall can’t breathe very well—his arms are trapped underneath Liam, where the combined weight of all four of them has pushed Liam onto his back—he can’t see anything—Liam’s knees are digging into his stomach—his own knee is _not_ happy—and Niall doesn’t know how _he_ ended up crushed in the middle when _Liam_ is the one they’re all supposed to be hugging—but Liam is shaking, crying quietly underneath their weight, so as uncomfortable as Niall is, he’ll stick it out. Liam needs this more than Niall needs to make a fuss.

They stay like that, a slowly shifting, breathing mass, for a long time. Niall adjusts; he learns how to breathe under Louis’ weight, wiggles until his bum knee isn’t cramped up beneath him, gets over the smell of Harry’s armpit. Slowly, surely, Liam stops shuddering and sniffling. He lets out a great huge sigh that sends them all rising up and down, and then, so quiet Niall hears it more through the rumbling of Liam’s chest than anything else, he says, “Thank you.”

“Of course, mate,” Niall replies, right before Harry says, “Any time,” and Louis says, “You’re welcome,” at the same time, but Zayn beats them all when he chimes in at the end with, “Always.”

Liam breathes in deeply again, shuddering a little; for a second, Niall is sure he’s going to start crying again. But then he just says, “Please get off me now.”

None of them need telling twice.

*


End file.
